1 


UNGAVA  BOB 


OF  CAtlF.  UBRARY.  LOS  AWGELE9 


Three  of  the  men  hauled,  the  other  with  a  pole,  Kept 
it  dear  of  the  rocks  (Bee  tags  4*) 


UNGAVA    BOB 


A  Winter  s  Tale 

by 
DILLON    WALLACE 

Author  of 
"The  Lure  of  the  Labrador  Wild" 


Illustrated  by 
SAMUEL  M.  PALMER 


GROS.SET  gr  DUNLAP,  Publishers 

NEW  YORK 
by  arrangement  with  Fleming  H.   Revell  Co. 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
H.EM1NG  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 
THIRD    EDITION 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  17  North  Wabash  Ave. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:  75  Princes  Street 


To  My  Sisters 
t  and  Jesste 


2133358 


FOREWORD 

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FOREWORD 

brarian.  Only  such  books  were  chosen  by  the 
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CONTENTS 

I.  How  BOB  GOT  His  "TRAIL"     .        .        9 

II.  OFF  TO  THE  BUSH       ....      26 

III.  AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  A  BEAR    .        .      37 

IV.  SWEPT  AWAY  IN  THE  RAPIDS      .        .      50 

V.  THE  TRAILS  ARE  REACHED          .        .      56 

VI.  ALONE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS        .        .68 

VII.  A  STREAK  OF  GOOD  LUCK  ...      76 

VIII.  MICMAC  JOHN'S  REVENGE  ...      87 

IX.  LOST  IN  THE  SNOW     ....      96 

X.  THE  PENALTY 108 

XI.  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  TRAIL      .        .     1 1 5 

XII.  IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  NASCAUPEES    .     1 29 

XIII.  A  FOREBODING  OF  EVIL     .        .        .140 

XIV.  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH     .        „        .153 

XV.  IN  THE  WIGWAM  OF  SISHETAKUSHIN    .     171 

XVI.  ONE  OF  THE  TRIBE    .        .        .        .187 

XVII.  STILL  FARTHER  NORTH      .        .        .     199 
XVIIL  A  MISSION  OF  TRUST         .        .        .    206 

5 


6  CONTENTS 

XIX.  AT  THE  MERCY  OF  THE  WIND  .        .  226 

XX.  PRISONERS  OF  THE  SEA    .        .        .  240 

XXI.  ADRIFT  ON  THE  ICE         .                 .  254 

XXII.  THE  MAID  OF  THE  NORTH        .        „  269 

XXIII.  THE  HAND  OF  PROVIDENCE      .        .  280 

XXIV.  THE  ESCAPE 290 

XXV.  THE  BREAK-UP        ....  304 

XXVI.  BACK  AT  WOLF  BIGHT    .        .        .315 

XXVII.  THE  CRUISE  TO  ST.  JOHNS        .        .  333 

XXVIII.  IN  Af  itK  YEARS    ....  341 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACINL 
PAGE 

itlREE    OF  THE    MEN    HAULED,  THE  OTHER 
WITH    A    POLE,    KEPT    IT    CLEAR    OF 

THE  ROCKS.       .....       Title 

"BOB  JUMPED  OUT  WITH  THE  PAINTER  IN 

HIS    HAND."  .....  21 

CHART  OF  THE  TRAILS.  ...  64 

"MiCMAc  JOHN  KNEW  HIS  END  HAD  COME."  Ill 

tflT   WAS   DANGEROUS   WORK."  -  -  173 


HER  STANDING   IN  THE  BRIGHT 
MOONLIGHT."   -     -    -     -    - 


HELD  THE  VESSEL  STEADILY  TO  HER 
COURSE."      ..... 


UNGAVA    BOB 

i 

HOW  BOB  GOT  HIS  "TRAIL" 

IT  was  an  evening  in  early  September  twenty 
years  ago.  The  sun  was  just  setting  in  a 
radiance  of  glory  behind  the  dark  spruce  for- 
est that  hid  the  great  unknown,  unexplored  Lab- 
rador wilderness  which  stretched  away  a  thousand 
miles  to  the  rocky  shores  of  Hudson's  Bay  and 
the  bleak  desolation  of  Ungava.  With  their 
back  to  the  forest  and  the  setting  sun,  drawn  up 
in  martial  line  stood  the  eight  or  ten  white- 
washed log  buildings  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany Post,  just  as  they  had  stood  for  a  hundred 
years,  and  just  as  they  stand  to-day,  looking  out 
upon  the  wide  waters  of  Eskimo  Bay,  which  now, 
reflecting  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun,  shone  red 
and  sparkling  like  a  sea  of  rubies. 

On  a  clearing  to  the  eastward  of  the  post  be- 
tween the  woods  and  water  was  an  irregular 
duster   of    deerskin    wigwams,    around   which 
9 


to  UNGAVA  BOB 

loitered  dark-hued  Indians  puffing  quietly  at 
their  pipes,  while  Indian  women  bent  over 
kettles  steaming  at  open  fires,  cooking  the 
evening  meal,  and  little  Indian  boys  with  bows 
shot  harmless  arrows  at  soaring  gulls  overhead, 
and  laughed  joyously  at  their  sport  as  each 
arrow  fell  short  of  its  mark.  Big  wolf  dogs 
skulked  here  and  there,  looking  for  bits  of  refuse, 
snapping  and  snarling  ill-temperedly  at  each 
other. 

A  group  of  stalwart,  swarthy-faced  men, 
dressed  in  the  garb  of  northern  hunters — light- 
coloured  moleskin  trousers  tucked  into  the  tops  ol 
long-legged  sealskin  moccasins,  short  jackets  and 
peakless  caps — stood  before  the  post  kitchen  or 
lounged  upon  the  rough  board  walk  which  ex- 
tended the  full  length  of  the  reservation  in  front 
of  the  servants'  quarters  and  storehouses.  They 
were  watching  a  small  sailboat  that,  half  a  mile 
out  upon  the  red  flood,  was  bowling  in  before  a 
smart  breeze,  and  trying  to  make  out  its  single 
occupant.  Finally  some  one  spoke. 

"  Tis  Bob  Gray  from  Wolf  Bight,  for  that's 
sure  Bob's  punt" 

44  Yes,"  said  another,  "'tis  sure  Bob." 

Their  curiosity  satisfied,  all  but  two  strolled 


HOW  BOB  GOT  HIS  "TRAIL"       11 

into  the  kitchen,  where  supper  had  been  an- 
nounced. 

Douglas  Campbell,  the  older  of  the  two  that 
remained,  was  a  short,  stockily  built  man  with  a 
heavy,  full,  silver-white  beard,  and  skin  tanned 
dark  as  an  Indian's  by  the  winds  and  storms  of 
more  than  sixty  years.  A  pair  of  kindly  blue 
eyes  beneath  shaggy  white  eyebrows  gave  his 
face  an  appearance  at  once  of  strength  and  gen- 
tleness, and  an  erect  bearing  and  well-poised  head 
stamped  him  a  leader  and  a  man  of  importance. 

The  other  was  a  tall,  wiry,  half-breed  Indian, 
with  high  cheek  bones  and  small,  black,  shifting 
eyes  that  were  set  very  close  together  and  im- 
parted to  the  man  a  look  of  craftiness  and 
cunning.  He  was  known  as  "Micmac  John," 
but  said  his  real  name  was  John  Sharp.  He  had 
drifted  to  the  coast  a  couple  of  years  before  on  a 
fishing  schooner  from  Newfoundland,  whence  he 
had  come  from  Nova  Scotia.  From  the  coast  he 
had  made  his  way  the  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to 
the  head  of  Eskimo  Bay,  and  there  took  up  the 
life  of  a  trapper.  Rumour  had  it  that  he  had 
committed  murder  at  home  and  had  run  away  to 
escape  the  penalty ;  but  this  rumour  was  unreri* 
fied,  and  there  was  no  means  of  learning  the 


13  UNGAVA  BOB 

truth  of  it  Since  his  arrival  here  the  hunters 
had  lost,  now  and  again,  martens  and  foxes  from 
their  traps,  and  it  was  whispered  that  Micmac 
John  was  responsible  for  their  disappearance. 
Nevertheless,  without  any  tangible  evidence  that 
he  had  stolen  them,  he  was  treated  with  kind- 
ness, though  he  had  made  no  real  friends  amongst 
the  natives. 

When  the  last  of  the  men  had  dosed  the 
kitchen  door  behind  him,  Micmac  John  ap- 
proached Douglas,  who  had  been  standing  some- 
what apart,  evidently  lost  in  his  thoughts  as  he 
watched  the  approaching  boat,  and  asked : 

"  Have  ye  decided  about  the  Big  Hill  trail, 
sir?" 

"Yes,  John." 

"  And  am  I  to  hunt  it  this  year,  sir  ?  M 

"  No,  John,  I  can't  let  ye  have  un.  I  told  Bob 
Gray  th'  day  I'd  let  him  hunt  un.  Bob's  a  smart 
lad,  and  I  wants  t'  give  he  th'  chance." 

Micmac  John  cast  a  malicious  glance  at  old 
Douglas.  Then  with  an  assumed  indifference, 
and  shrug  of  his  shoulders  as  he  started  to  walk 
away,  remarked : 

"  All  right  if  you've  made  yer  mind  up,  but 
you'll  be  sorry  fer  it" 


HOW  BOB  GOT  HIS  "TRAIL"       13 

Douglas  turned  fiercely  upon  him. 

"What  mean  you,  man?  Be  that  a  threat? 
Speak  now ! " 

"  I  make  no  threats,  but  boys  can't  hunt,  and 
he'll  bring  ye  no  fur.  Ye'll  get  nothin'  fer  yer 
pains.  Ye'll  be  sorry  fer  it" 

"  Well,"  said  Douglas  as  Micmac  John  walked 
away  to  join  the  others  in  the  kitchen,  "  I've 
promised  th'  lad,  an'  what  I  promises  I  does,  an* 
I'll  stand  by  it" 

Bob  Gray,  sitting  at  the  tiller  of  his  little  punt, 
The  Rover,  was  very  happy — happy  because  the 
world  was  so  beautiful,  happy  because  he  lived, 
and  especially  happy  because  of  the  great  good 
fortune  that  had  come  to  him  this  day  when 
Douglas  Campbell  granted  his  request  to  let  him 
hunt  the  Big  Hill  trail,  with  its  two  hundred  good 
marten  and  fox  traps. 

It  had  been  a  year  of  misfortune  for  the  Grays. 
The  previous  winter  when  Bob's  father  started 
out  upon  his  trapping  trail  a  wolverine  persist- 
ently and  systematically  followed  him,  destroy- 
ing almost  every  fox  and  marten  that  he  had 
caught  All  known  methods  to  catch  or  kill  the 
animal  were  resorted  to,  but  with  the  cunning 
that  its  prehistoric  ancestors  had  handed  down  to 


I4  UNGAVA  BOB 

it,  it  avoided  every  pitfall.  The  fox  is  a  poor 
bungler  compared  with  the  wolverine.  The  re- 
sult of  all  this  was  that  Richard  Gray  had  no 
fur  in  the  spring  with  which  to  pay  his  debt  at 
the  trading  store. 

Then  came  the  greatest  misfortune  of  all. 
Emily,  Bob's  little  sister,  ventured  too  far  out 
upon  a  cliff  one  day  to  pluck  a  vagrant  wild 
flower  that  had  found  lodgment  in  a  crevice, 
and  in  reaching  for  it,  slipped  to  the  rocks  be- 
low. Bob  heard  her  scream  as  she  fell,  and 
ran  to  her  assistance.  He  found  her  lying  there, 
quite  still  and  white,  clutching  the  precious 
blossom,  and  at  first  he  thought  she  was  dead. 
He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  tenderly 
to  the  cabin.  After  a  while  she  opened  her  eyes 
and  came  back  to  consciousness,  but  she  had 
never  walked  since.  Everything  was  done  for 
the  child  that  could  be  done.  Every  man  and 
woman  in  the  Bay  offered  assistance  and  sug- 
gestions, and  every  one  of  them  tried  a  remedy  ; 
but  no  relief  came. 

All  the  time  things  kept  going  from  bad  to 
worse  with  Richard  Gray.  Few  seals  came  in 
the  bay  that  year  and  he  had  no  fat  to  trade  at 
the  post.  The  salmon  fishing  was  a  flat  failure 


HOW  BOB  GOT  HIS  "TRAIL"       15 

As  the  weeks  went  on  and  Emily  showed  no 
improvement  Douglas  Campbell  came  over  to 
Wolf  Bight  with  the  suggestion, 

"  Take  th'  maid  t'  th'  mail  boat  doctor.  He'll 
sure  fix  she  up."  And  then  they  took  her — Bob 
and  his  mother — ninety  miles  down  the  bay  to 
the  nearest  port  of  call  of  the  coastal  mail  boat, 
while  the  father  remained  at  home  to  watch  his, 
salmon  nets.  Here  they  waited  until  finally  the 
steamer  came  and  the  doctor  examined  Emily. 

"  There's  nothing  I  can  do  for  her,"  he  said. 
"  You'll  have  to  send  her  to  St.  Johns  to  the  hos- 
pital. They'll  fix  her  all  right  there  with  a  little 
operation." 

"An*  how  much  will  that  cost ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Gray. 

"Oh,"  he  replied,  "  not  over  fifty  dollars— fifty 
dollars  will  cover  it" 

"An'  if  she  don't  go ?" 

"  She'll  never  get  well."  Then,  as  a  dismissal 
of  the  subject,  the  doctor,  turning  to  Bob,  asked  : 
"  Well,  youngster,  what's  the  outlook  for  fur  next 
season  ?  " 

"  We  hopes  there'll  be  some,  sir." 

"Get  some  silver  foxes.  Good  silvers  are 
worth  five  hundred  dollars  cash  in  St.  Johns." 


16  UNGAVA  BOB 

The  mail  boat  steamed  away  with  the  doctor, 
and  Bob  and  his  mother,  with  Emily  made  as 
comfortable  as  possible  hi  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
turned  homeward. 

It  was  hard  to  realize  that  Emily  would  neve* 
be  well  again,  that  she  would  never  romp  over 
the  rocks  with  Bob  in  the  summer  or  ride  with 
him  on  the  sledge  when  he  took  the  dogs  to  haul 
wood  in  the  winter.  There  would  be  no  more 
merry  laughter  as  she  played  about  the  cabin. 
This  was  before  the  days  when  the  mission 
doctors  with  their  ships  and  hospitals  came  to  the 
Labrador  to  give  back  life  to  the  sick  and  dying 
of  the  coast  Fifty  dollars  was  more  money  than 
any  man  of  the  bay  save  Douglas  Campbell  had 
ever  seen,  and  to  expect  to  get  such  a  sum  was 
quite  hopeless,  for  in  those  days  the  hunters  were 
always  in  debt  to  the  company,  and  all  they  ever 
received  for  their  labours  were  the  actual  necessi- 
ties of  life,  and  not  always  these. 

Emily  was  the  only  cheerful  one  now  of  the 
three.  When  she  saw  her  mother  crying,  she 
took  her  hand  and  stroked  it,  and  said :  "  Mother, 
dear,  don't  be  cryin'  now.  '  Tis  not  so  bad.  If 
God  wants  that  I  get  well  He'll  make  me  well. 
An*  I  wants  to  stay  home  with  you  an'  see  you 


HOW  BOB  GOT  HIS  "TRAIL1*       17 

an*  father  an*  Bob,  an'  I'd  be  dreadful  homesick 
to  go  off  so  far." 

Emily  and  Bob  had  always  been  great  chums 
and  the  blow  to  him  seemed  almost  more  than 
he  could  bear.  His  heart  lay  in  his  bosom  like  a 
stone.  At  first  he  could  not  think,  but  finally  he 
found  himself  repeating  what  the  doctor  had  said 
about  silver  foxes, — "  five  hundred  dollars  cash." 
This  was  more  money  than  he  could  imagine, 
but  he  knew  it  was  a  great  deal.  The  company 
gave  sixty  dollars  in  trade  for  the  finest  silver 
foxes.  That  was  supposed  a  liberal  price — but 
five  hundred  dollars  in  cash  ! 

He  looked  longingly  towards  the  blue  hills 
that  held  their  heads  against  the  distant  sky 
line.  Behind  those  hills  was  a  great  wilderness 
rich  in  foxes  and  martens — but  no  man  of  the 
coast  had  ever  dared  to  venture  far  within  it 
It  was  the  land  of  the  dreaded  Nascaupees,  the 
savage  red  men  of  the  North,  who  it  was  said 
would  torture  to  a  horrible  death  any  who  came 
upon  their  domain. 

The  Mountaineer  Indians  who  visited  the  bay 
regularly  and  camped  in  summer  near  the  post, 
told  many  tales  of  the  treachery  of  their  northern 
neighbours,  and  warned  the  trappers  that  they 


18  UNGAVA  BOB 

had  already  blazed  their  trails  as  far  inland  as  it 
was  safe  for  them  to  go.  Any  hunter  encroach- 
ing upon  the  Nascaupee  territory,  they  insisted, 
would  surely  be  slaughtered. 

Bob  had  often  heard  this  warning,  and  did  not 
forget  it  now  ;  but  in  spite  of  it  he  felt  that  cir- 
cumstances demanded  risks,  and  for  Emily's  sake 
he  was  willing  to  take  them.  If  he  could  only  get 
traps,  he  would  make  the  venture,  with  his 
parents'  consent,  and  blaze  a  new  trail  there,  for 
it  would  be  sure  to  yield  a  rich  reward.  But  to 
get  traps  needed  money  or  credit,  and  he  had 
neither. 

Then  he  remembered  that  Douglas  Campbell 
had  said  one  day  that  he  would  not  go  to  the 
hills  again  if  he  could  get  a  hunter  to  take  the 
Big  Hill  trail  to  hunt  on  shares.  That  was  an  in- 
spiration. He  would  ask  Douglas  to  let  him 
hunt  it  on  the  usual  basis — two-thirds  of  the  fur 
caught  to  belong  to  the  hunter  and  one-third  to 
the  owner.  With  this  thought  Bob's  spirits  rose. 

"Twill  be  fine — 'twill  be  a  grand  chance," 
said  he  to  himself,  "  an  Douglas  lets  me  hunt  un, 
an  father  lets  me  go." 

He  decided  to  speak  to  Douglas  first,  for  if 
Douglas  was  agreeable  to  the  plan  his  parents 


HOW  BOB  GOT  HIS  "TRAIL  '       19 

would  give  their  consent  more  readily.  Other- 
wise they  might  withhold  it,  for  the  trail  was 
dangerously  close  to  the  forbidden  grounds  of 
the  Nascaupees,  and  anyway  it  was  a  risky  un- 
dertaking for  a  boy— one  that  many  of  the  ex- 
perienced trappers  would  shrink  from. 

The  more  Bob  considered  his  plan  with  all 
its  great  possibilities,  the  more  eager  he  be- 
came. He  found  himself  calculating  the  number 
of  pelts  he  would  secure,  and  amongst  them  per- 
haps a  silver  fox.  He  would  let  the  mail  boat 
doctor  sell  them  for  him,  and  then  they  would  be 
rich,  and  Emily  would  go  to  the  hospital,  and  be 
his  merry,  laughing  little  chum  again.  How 
happy  they  would  all  be !  Bob  was  young  and 
an  optimist,  and  no  thought  of  failure  entered  his 
head. 

It  was  too  late  the  night  they  reached  home  to 
see  Douglas  but  the  next  morning  he  hurried 
through  his  breakfast,  which  was  eaten  by  candle- 
light, and  at  break  of  day  was  off  for  Kenemish, 
where  Douglas  Campbell  lived.  He  found  the 
old  man  at  home,  and,  with  some  fear  of  refusal, 
but  still  bravely,  for  he  knew  the  kind-hearted 
old  trapper  would  grant  the  request  if  he  thought 
it  were  wise,  explained  his  plan. 


20  UNGAVA  BOB 

"You're  a  stalwart  lad,  Bob,"  said  Douglas, 
looking  at  the  boy  critically  from  under  his 
shaggy  eyebrows.  "  An'  how  old  may  you  be 
now  ?  I  'most  forgets— young  folks  grows  up  so 
fast" 

"  Just  turned  sixteen,  sir." 

"  An'  that's  a  young  age  for  a  lad  to  be  so  far 
in  th'  bush  alone.  But  you'll  be  havin'  somethin* 
happen  t'  you." 

"  I'll  be  rare  careful,  sir,  an'  you  lets  me  ha*  th* 
trail." 

"  An*  what  says  your  father  ?  " 

"  I's  said  nothin'  to  he,  sir,  about  it  yet" 

"  Well,  go  ask  he,  an'  he  says  yes,  meet  me  at 
the  post  th'  evenin'  an'  I'll  speak  wi'  Mr.  Mac- 
Donald  t*  give  ye  debt  for  your  grub.  Micmac 
John  's  wantin'  th'  trail,  but  I'm  not  thinkin'  t* 
let  he  have  un." 

At  first  Bob's  parents  both  opposed  the  proj- 
ect The  dangers  were  so  great  that  his  mother 
asserted  that  if  he  were  to  go  she  would  not  have 
an  easy  hour  until  she  saw  her  boy  again.  But 
he  put  forth  such  strong  arguments  and  plead 
so  vigorously,  and  his  disappointment  was  so 
manifest,  that  finally  she  withdrew  her  objections, 
and  his  father  said : 


"Bob  jumped  out  with  the  painter  in  his  hand" 


HOW  BOB  GOT  HIS  "  TRAIL  *       2t 

u  Well,  you  may  go,  my  son,  an  Douglas  lets 
you  have  th'  trail." 

So  Bob,  scarcely  sixteen  years  of  age,  was  to  do 
a  man's  work  and  shoulder  a  man's  burden,  and 
he  was  glad  that  God  had  given  him  stature  be- 
yond his  years,  that  he  might  do  it  He  could 
not  remember  when  he  had  not  driven  dogs  and 
cut  wood  and  used  a  gun.  He  had  done  these 
things  always.  But  now  he  was  to  rise  to  the 
higher  plane  of  a  full-fledged  trapper  and  the 
spruce  forest  and  the  distant  hills  beyond  the 
post  seemed  a  great  empire  over  which  he  was 
to  rule.  Those  trackless  fastnesses,  with  their 
wealth  of  fur,  were  to  pay  tribute  to  him,  and  he 
was  happy  in  the  thought  that  he  had  found  a 
way  to  save  little  Emily  from  the  lifelong  ex- 
istence of  a  poor  crippled  invalid.  His  buoyant 
spirit  had  stepped  out  of  the  old  world  of  dark- 
ness and  despair  into  a  new  world  filled  with 
light  and  love  and  beauty,  in  which  the  present 
troubles  were  but  a  passing  cloud. 

"  Ho,  lad  1  so  your  father  let  ye  come.  I's  glad 
t'  see  ye,  lad.  An'  now  we're  t'  make  a  great 
hunt,"  greeted  Douglas  when  the  punt  ground 
its  nose  upon  the  sandy  beach,  and  Bob  jumped 
out  with  the  painter  in  his  hand  to  make  it  fast 


22  UNGAVA  BOB 

"  Aye,  sir,"  said  Bob,  "  he  an'  mother  says  i 
may  go." 

"  Well,  come,  b'y,  an'  we'll  ha'  supper  an*  bide 
here  th*  night  an'  in  th'  mornin'  you'll  get  your 
fit  out,"  said  Douglas  when  they  had  pulled  the 
punt  up  well  away  from  the  tide. 

Entering  the  kitchen  they  found  the  others 
still  at  table.  Greetings  were  exchanged,  and  a 
place  was  made  for  Douglas  and  Bob. 

It  was  a  good-sized  room,  furnished  in  the 
simple,  primitive  style  of  the  country :  an  un- 
carpeted  floor,  benches  and  chests  in  lieu  of 
chairs,  a  home-made  table,  a  few  shelves  for  the 
dishes,  two  or  three  bunks  like  ship  bunks  built 
in  the  end  opposite  the  door  to  serve  the  post 
servant  and  his  family  for  beds,  and  a  big  box 
stove,  capable  of  taking  huge  billets  of  wood, 
crackling  cheerily,  for  the  nights  were  already 
frosty.  Resting  upon  crosspieces  nailed  to  the 
rough  beams  overhead  were  half  a  dozen  muzzle 
loading  guns,  and  some  dog  harness  hung  on 
the  wall  at  one  side.  Everything  was  spotlessly 
clean.  The  floor,  the  table — innocent  of  a  cloth 
— the  shelves,  benches  and  chests  were  scoured 
to  immaculate  whiteness  with  sand  and  soap, 
and,  despite  its  meagre  furnishings  the  room  was 


HOW  BOB  GOT  HIS  "TRAIL"       23 

very  snug  and  cozy  and  possessed  an  atmosphere 
of  homeliness  and  comfort. 

A  single  window  admitted  the  fading  evening 
light  and  a  candle  was  brought,  though  Douglas 
said  to  the  young  girl  who  placed  it  in  the  centre 
of  the  table : 

"So  long  as  there's  plenty  a*  grub,  Bessie,  I 
thinks  we  can  find  a  way  t'  get  he  t'  our  mouths 
without  ere  a  light." 

The  meal  was  a  simple  one — boiled  fresh  trout 
with  pork  grease  to  pour  over  it  for  sauce,  bread, 
tea,  and  molasses  for  "  sweetening."  Butter  and 
sugar  were  luxuries  to  be  used  only  upon  rare 
festal  occasions. 

After  the  men  had  eaten  they  sat  on  the  floor 
with  their  backs  against  the  rough  board  wall 
and  their  knees  drawn  up,  and  smoked  and  chat- 
ted about  the  fishing  season  just  closed  and  the 
furring  season  soon  to  open,  while  Margaret 
Black,  wife  of  Tom  Black,  the  post  servant,  their 
daughter  Bessie  and  a  couple  of  young  girl 
visitors  of  Bessie's  from  down  the  bay,  ate  and 
afterwards  cleared  the  table.  Then  some  one 
proposed  a  dance,  as  it  was  their  last  gathering  be- 
fore going  to  their  winter  trails,  which  would  hold 
them  prisoners  for  months  to  come  in  the  interior 


24  UNGAVA  BOB 

wilderness.  A  fiddle  was  brought  out.  and  Dick 
Blake  tuned  up  its  squeaky  strings,  and,  keeping 
time  with  one  foot,  struck  up  the  Virginia  reel. 
The  men  discarded  their  jackets,  displaying  their 
rough  flannel  shirts  and  belts,  in  which  were  car- 
ried sheath  knives,  chose  their  partners  and  went 
at  it  with  a  will,  to  Dick's  music,  while  he  fiddled 
and  shouted  such  directions  as  "  Sashay  down  th* 
middle, — swing  yer  pardners, — promenade." 

Bob  led  out  Bessie,  for  whom  he  had  always 
shown  a  decided  preference,  and  danced  like  any 
man  of  them.  Douglas  did  not  dance — not  be- 
cause he  was  too  old,  for  no  man  is  too  old  to 
dance  in  Labrador,  nor  because  it  was  beneath 
his  dignity — but  because,  as  he  said :  "  There's 
not  enough  maids  for  all  th'  lads,  an'  I's  had  my 
turn  a  many  a  time.  I'll  smoke  an'  look  on." 

Neither  did  Micmac  John  dance,  for  he  seemed 
in  ill  humour,  and  was  silent  and  morose,  nursing 
his  discontent  that  a  mere  boy  should  have  been 
given  the  Big  Hill  trail  in  preference  to  him,  and 
he  sat  moody  and  silent,  taking  no  apparent 
interest  in  the  fun.  The  dance  was  nearly 
finished  when  Bob,  wheeling  around  the  end, 
warm  with  the  excitement  and  pleasure  of  it  all, 
inadvertently  stepped  on  one  of  the  half-breed's 


HOW  BOB  GOT  HIS  "TRAIL"       25 

feet.  Micmac  John  rose  like  a  flash  and  struck 
Bob  a  stinging  blow  on  the  face.  Bob  turned 
upon  him  full  of  the  quick  anger  of  the  moment, 
then,  remembering  his  surroundings,  restrained 
the  hand  that  was  about  to  return  the  blow, 
simply  saying: 

"'Twas  an  accident,  John,  an*  you  has  no 
right  to  strike  me." 

The  half-breed,  vicious,  sinister  and  alert,  stood 
glowering  for  a  moment,  then  deliberately  hit 
Bob  again.  The  others  fell  back,  Bob  faced  his 
opponent,  and,  goaded  now  beyond  the  power  of 
self-restraint,  struck  with  all  the  power  of  his 
young  arm  at  Micmac  John.  The  latter  was  on 
his  guard,  however,  and  warded  the  blow. 
Quick  as  a  flash  he  drew  his  knife,  and  before  the 
others  realized  what  he  was  about  to  do,  made  a 
vicious  lunge  at  Bob's  breast. 


O 


11 

OFF  TO  THE  BUSH 

N  the  left  breast  of  Bob's  woollen  shirt 
there  was  a  pocket,  and  in  this  pocket 
was  a  small  metal  box  of  gun  caps, 
which  Bob  always  carried  there  when  he  was 
away  from  home,  for  he  seldom  left  home  with- 
out his  gun.  It  was  fortunate  for  him  that  it  was 
there  now,  for  the  point  of  the  knife  struck 
squarely  over  the  place  where  the  box  lay.  It 
was  driven  with  such  force  by  the  half-breed's 
strong  arm  that  it  passed  clear  through  the  metal, 
which,  however,  so  broke  the  blow  that  the  steel 
scarcely  scratched  the  skin  beneath.  Before 
another  plunge  could  be  made  with  the  knife  the 
men  sprang  in  and  seized  Micmac  John,  who  sub- 
mitted at  once  without  a  struggle  to  the  over- 
powering force,  and  permitted  himself  to  be  dis- 
armed. Then  he  was  released  and  stood  back, 
sullen  and  defiant.  For  several  moments  pot  a 
word  was  spoken. 

26 


OFF  TO  THE  BUSH  27 

Finally  Dick  Blake  took  a  threatening  step 
towards  the  Indian,  and  shaking  his  fist  in  the 
tatter's  face  exclaimed : 

"Ye  dirty  coward!  Ye'd  do  murder,  would 
ye  ?  Ye:d  kill  un,  would  ye  ?  " 

"  Hold  on,"  said  Douglas,  "  'bide  a  bit  'Twill 
do  no  good  t'  beat  un,  though  he's  deservin'  of 
it"  Then  to  the  half-breed :  "  An'  what's  ailin' 
of  ye  th'  evenin',  John  ?  'Twas  handy  f  doin" 
murder  ye  were." 

John  saw  the  angry  look  in  the  men's  eyes,  and 
the  cool  judgment  of  Douglas  standing  between 
him  and  bodily  harm,  and  deciding  that  tact  was 
the  better  part  of  valour,  changed  his  attitude  of 
defiance  to  one  of  reconciliation.  He  could  not 
take  revenge  now  for  his  fancied  wrong.  His 
Indian  cunning  told  him  to  wait  for  a  better  time. 
So  he  extended  his  hand  to  Bob,  who,  dazed  by 
the  suddenness  of  the  unexpected  attack,  had  not 
moved.  "  Shake  hands,  Bob,  an'  call  it  square. 
I  was  hot  with  anger  an'  didn't  know  what  I  was 
doin'.  We  won't  quarrel." 

Bob,  actfog  upon  the  motto  his  mother  had 
taught  him — "  Be  slow  to  anger  and  quick  to  for- 
give," took  the  outstretched  hand  with  the  re- 
mark, 


28  UNGAVA  BOB 

"Twere  a  mighty  kick  I  gave  ye,  John,  an* 
enough  t'  anger  ye,  an'  no  harm's  done." 

Big  Dick  Blake  would  not  have  it  so  at  first 
and  invited  the  half-breed  outside  to  take  a 
"licking"  at  his  hands.  But  the  others  soon 
pacified  him,  the  trouble  was  forgotten  and  danc- 
ing resumed  as  though  nothing  had  happened 
to  disturb  it 

As  soon  as  attention  was  drawn  from  him  Mic- 
mac  John,  unobserved,  slipped  out  of  the  door 
and  a  few  moments  later  placed  some  things  in  a 
canoe  that  had  been  turned  over  on  the  beach, 
launched  it  and  paddled  away  in  the  ghostly 
light  of  the  rising  moon. 

The  dancing  continued  until  eleven  o'clock, 
then  the  men  lit  their  pipes,  and  after  a  short 
smoke  and  chat  rolled  into  their  blankets  upon 
tht  floor,  Mrs.  Black  and  the  girls  retired  to  the 
bunks,  and,  save  for  a  long,  weird  howl  that  now 
and  again  came  from  the  wolf  dogs  outside,  and 
the  cheery  crackling  of  the  stove  within,  not  a 
sound  disturbed  the  silence  of  the  night. 

As  has  been  intimated,  Douglas  Campbell  was 
a  man  of  importance  in  Eskimo  Bay.  When  a 
young  fellow  he  had  come  here  from  the  Orkney 
Islands  as  a  servant  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com' 


OFF  TO  THE  BUSH  29 

pany.  A  few  years  later  he  married  a  native  girl, 
and  then  left  the  company's  service  to  become  a 
hunter. 

He  had  been  careful  of  his  wages,  and  as 
he  blazed  new  hunting  trails  into  the  wilder- 
ness, used  his  savings  to  purchase  steel  traps 
with  which  to  stock  the  trails.  Other  trappers, 
too  poor  to  buy  traps  for  themselves,  were  glad 
to  hunt  on  shares  the  trails  Douglas  made,  and 
now  he  was  reaping  a  good  income  from  them. 
He  was  in  fact  the  richest  man  in  the  Bay. 

He  was  kind,  generous  and  fatherly.  The  peo- 
ple of  the  Bay  looked  up  to  him  and  came  to  him 
when  they  were  in  trouble,  for  his  advice  and 
help.  Many  a  poor  family  had  Douglas  Camp- 
bell's flour  barrel  saved  from  starvation  in  a  bad 
winter,  and  God  knows  bad  winters  come  often 
enough  on  the  Labrador.  Many  an  ambitious 
youngster  had  he  started  in  life,  as  he  was  start- 
ing Bob  Gray  now. 

The  Big  Hill  trail,  far  up  the  Grand  River,  was 
the  newest  and  deepest  in  the  wilderness  of  all 
the  trails  Douglas  owned — deeper  in  the  wilder- 
ness than  that  of  any  other  hunter.  Just  below 
it  and  adjoining  it  was  William  Campbell's — a 
son  of  Douglas — a  young  man  of  nineteen  who 


30  UNGAVA  BOB 

had  made  his  first  winter's  hunt  the  year  before 
our  story  begins ;  below  that,  Dick  Blake's;  and 
below  Dick's  was  Ed  Matheson's. 

In  preparing  for  the  winter  hunt  it  was  more 
convenient  for  these  men  to  take  their  supplies 
to  their  tilts  by  boat  up  the  Grand  River  than  to 
haul  them  in  on  toboggans  on  the  spring  ice,  as* 
nearly  every  other  hunter,  whose  trapping  ground 
was  not  upon  so  good  a  waterway,  was  compelled 
to  do,  and  so  it  was  that  they  were  now  at  the 
trading  post  selecting  their  outfits  preparatory  to 
starting  inland  before  the  very  cold  winter  should 
bind  the  river  in  its  icy  shackles. 

The  men  were  up  early  in  the  morning,  and 
Douglas  went  with  Bob  to  the  office  of  Mr. 
Charles  McDonald,  the  factor,  where  it  was  ar- 
ranged that  Bob  should  be  given  on  credit  such 
provisions  and  goods  as  he  needed  for  his 
winter's  hunt,  to  be  paid  for  with  fur  when  he  re- 
turned in  the  spring.  Douglas  gave  his  verbal 
promise  to  assume  the  debt  should  Bob's  catch 
of  fur  be  insufficient  to  enable  him  to  pay  it,  but 
Bob's  reputation  for  energy  and  honesty  was  so 
good  that  Mr.  McDonald  said  he  had  no  fear  as 
to  the  payment  by  the  lad  himself. 

The  provisions  that  Bob  selected  in  the  store 


OFF  TO  THE  BUSH  31 

or  shop,  as  they  called  it,  were  chiefly  flour,  a 
small  bag  of  hardtack,  fat  pork,  tea,  molasses, 
baking  soda  and  a  little  coarse  salt,  while  powder, 
shot,  bullets,  gun  caps,  matches,  a  small  axe  and 
clothing  completed  the  outfit.  He  already  had  a 
gray  cotton  wedge-tent.  When  these  things 
were  selected  and  put  aside,  Douglas  bought  a 
pipe  and  some  plugs  of  black  tobacco,  and  pre- 
sented them  to  Bob  as  a  gift  from  himself. 

"But  I  never  smokes,  sir,  an'  I  'lows  he'd  be 
makin'  me  sick,"  said  Bob,  as  he  fingered  the 
pipe. 

"Just  a  wee  bit  when  you  tries  t'  get  ac- 
quainted," answered  Douglas  with  a  chuckle, 
"  just  a  wee  bit ;  but  ye'll  come  t'  he  soon  enough 
an'  right  good  company  ye'll  find  he  of  a  long 
evenin'.  Take  un  along,  an'  there's  no  harm 
done  if  ye  don't  smoke  un — but  ye'll  be  makin' 
good  friends  wi'  un  soon  enough." 

So  Bob  pocketed  the  pipe  and  packed  the  to- 
bacco carefully  away  with  his  purchases. 

After  a  consultation  it  was  decided  that  the 
men  should  all  meet  the  next  evening,  which 
would  be  Sunday,  at  Bob's  home  at  Wolf  Bight, 
near  the  mouth  of  the  Grand  River,  and  from 
there  make  an  early  start  on  Monday  morning 


32  UNGAVA  BOB 

for  their  trapping  grounds.  "  I'll  have  William 
over  wi'  one  o'  my  boats  that's  big  enough  for 
all  hands,"  said  Douglas.  "  No  use  takin'  more'n 
one  boat.  It's  easier  workin'  one  than  two  over 
the  portages  an'  up  the  rapids." 

When  Bob's  punt  was  loaded  and  he  was  ready 
to  start  for  home,  he  ran  to  the  kitchen  to  say 
good-bye  to  Mrs.  Black  and  the  girls,  for  he  was 
not  to  see  them  again  for  many  months. 

"  Bide  in  th'  tilt  when  it  storms,  Bob,  an*  have 
a  care  for  the  wolves,  an'  keep  clear  o'  th'  Nas- 
caupees,"  warned  Bessie  as  she  shook  Bob's 
hand. 

"  Aye,"  said  he.  "  I'll  bide  in  th'  tilt  o'  stormy 
days,  an'  not  go  handy  t'  th'  Nascaupees.  I'm 
not  fearful  o'  th'  wolves,  for  they's  always  so 
afraid  they  never  gives  un  a  chance  for  a  shot." 

"  But  do  have  a  care,  Bob.  An' — an' — I  wants 
to  tell  you  how  glad  I  is  o'  your  good  luck,  an' 
I  hopes  you'll  make  a  grand  hunt — I  knows  you 
will.  An' — Bob,  we'll  miss  you  th'  winter." 

"Thank  you,  Bessie.  An'  I'll  think  o'  th'  fine 
time  I'm  missin*  at  Christmas  an'  th'  New  Year 
Good-bye,  Bessie." 

"Good-bye,  Bob." 

The  fifteen  miles  across  the  Bay  to  Wolf  Bight 


OFF  TO  THE  BUSH  33 

with  a  fair  wind  was  soon  run.  Bob  ate  a  late 
dinner,  and  then  made  everything  snug  for  the 
journey.  His  flour  was  put  into  small,  conve- 
nient sacks,  his  cooking  utensils  consisting  of  a 
Aying  pan,  a  tin  pail  in  which  to  make  tea,  a  tin 
cup  and  a  spoon  were  placed  in  a  canvas  bag  by 
themselves,  and  in  another  bag  was  packed  a 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  four-point  blanket,  two 
suits  of  underwear,  a  pair  of  buckskin  mittens 
with  a  pair  of  duffel  ones  inside  them,  and  an 
extra  piece  of  the  duffel  for  an  emergency,  six 
pairs  of  knit  woollen  socks,  four  pairs  of  duffel 
socks  or  slippers  (which  his  mother  had  made  for 
him  out  of  heavy  blanket-like  woollen  cloth),  three 
pairs  of  buckskin  moccasins  for  the  winter  and 
an  extra  pair  of  sealskin  boots  (long  legged  mocca  • 
sins)  for  wet  weather  in  the  spring. 

He  also  laid  aside,  for  daily  use  on  the  jour- 
ney, an  adikey  made  of  heavy  white  woollen 
doth,  with  a  fur  trimmed  hood,  and  a  lighter  one, 
to  be  worn  outside  of  the  other,  and  made  of 
gray  cotton.  The  adikey  or  "  dikey,"  as  Bob 
called  it,  was  a  seamless  garment  to  be  drawn  on 
over  the  head  and  worn  instead  of  a  coat  The 
underclothing  and  knit  socks  had  been  purchased 
at  the  trading  post,  but  every  other  article  of 


34  UNGAVA  BOB 

clothing,  including  boots,  moccasins  and  mitts^ 
his  mother  had  made. 

A  pair  of  snow-shoes,  a  file  for  sharpening  axes, 
a  "  wedge  "  tent  of  gray  cotton  cloth  and  a  sheet 
iron  tent  stove  about  twelve  inches  square  and 
eighteen  inches  long  with  a  few  lengths  of  pipe 
placed  inside  of  it  were  likewise  put  in  readiness. 
The  stove  and  pipe  Bob's  father  had  manufactured 

No  packing  was  left  to  be  done  Sunday,  for 
though  there  was  no  church  to  go  to,  the  Grays, 
and  for  that  matter  all  of  the  Bay  people,  were 
close  observers  of  the  Sabbath,  and  left  no  work 
to  be  done  on  that  day  that  could  be  done  at  any 
other  time. 

Early  on  Sunday  evening,  Dick  and  Ed  and 
Bill  Campbell  came  over  in  their  boat  from  Kene- 
mish,  where  they  had  spent  the  previous  night. 
It  had  been  a  short  day  for  Bob,  the  shortest  it 
seemed  to  him  he  had  ever  known,  for  though  he 
was  anxious  to  be  away  and  try  his  mettle  with 
the  wilderness,  these  were  the  last  hours  for  many 
long  weary  months  that  he  should  have  at  home 
with  his  father  and  mother  and  Emily.  How  the 
child  clung  to  him  1  She  kept  him  by  her  side 
the  livelong  day,  and  held  his  hand  as  though 
she  were  afraid  that  he  would  slip  away  from  her 


OFF  TO  THE  BUSH  35 

She  stroked  his  cheek  and  told  him  how  proud 
she  was  of  her  big  brother,  and  warned  him  over 
and  over  again, 

"  Now,  Bob,  do  be  wonderful  careful  an'  not 
go  handy  t'  th'  Nascaupees  for  they  be  dreadful 
men,  fierce  an'  murderous." 

Over  and  over  again  they  planned  the  great 
things  they  would  do  when  he  came  back  with 
a  big  lot  of  fur — as  they  were  both  quite  sure 
he  would — and  how  she  would  go  away  to  the 
doctor's  to  be  made  well  and  strong  again  as 
she  used  to  be  and  the  romps  they  were  to  have 
when  that  happy  time  came. 

"An'  Bob,"  said  Emily,  "every  night  before  I 
goes  to  sleep  when  I  says  my  •  Now  I  lay  me 
down  to  sleep '  prayer,  I'll  say  to  God  '  an'  keep 
Bob  out  o'  danger  an'  bring  he  home  safe.' " 

"  Aye,  Emily,"  answered  Bob,  "  an'  I'll  say  to 
God,  « Make  Emily  fine  an'  strong  again.'  " 

Before  daybreak  on  Monday  morning  breakfast 
was  eaten,  and  the  boat  loaded  for  a  start  at 
dawn.  Emily  was  not  yet  awake  when  the  time 
came  to  say  farewell  and  Bob  kissed  her  as  she 
slept.  Poor  Mrs.  Gray  could  not  restrain  the 
tears,  and  Bob  felt  a  great  choking  in  his  throat 
—but  he  swallowed  it  bravely. 


36  UNGAVA  BOB 

«  Don't  be  feelin'  bad,  mother.  I'm  t'  be  rare 
careful  in  th'  bush,  and  you'll  see  me  well  and 
hearty  wi'  a  fine  hunt,  wi'  th'  open  water,"  said 
he,  as  he  kissed  her. 

"  I  knows  you'll  be  careful,  an'  I'll  try  not  t* 
worry,  but  I  has  a  forebodin'  o'  somethin'  t'  hap- 
pen— somethin'  that's  t'  happen  t'  you,  Bob— oh, 
I  feels  that  somethin's  t'  happen.  Emily  '11  be 
missin'  you  dreadful,  Bob.  An' — 'twill  be  sore 
lonesome  for  your  father  an'  me  without  our  boy." 

"  Ready,  Bob  ! "  shouted  Dick  from  the  boat. 

"  Don't  forget  your  prayers,  lad,  an'  remember 
that  your  mother's  prayin'  for  you  every  mornin' 
an'  every  night." 

"  Yes,  mother,  I'll  remember  all  you  said." 

She  watched  him  from  the  door  as  he  walked 
down  to  the  shore  with  his  father,  and  the  boat, 
heavily  laden,  pushed  out  into  the  Bay,  and  she 
watched  still,  until  it  disappeared  around  the 
point,  above.  Then  she  turned  back  into  the 
room  and  had  a  good  cry  before  she  went  about 
her  work  again. 

If  she  had  known  what  those  distant  hills  held 
for  her  boy — if  her  intuition  had  been  knowledge 
•—she  would  never  have  let  him  go. 


HI 

AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  A  BEAR 

THE  boat  turned  out  intc  the  broad  chan 
nel  and  into  Goose  Bay.  There  was  lit- 
tle or  no  wind,  and  when  the  sun  broke 
gloriously  over  the  white-capped  peaks  of  the 
Mealy  Mountains  it  shone  upon  a  sea  as  smooth 
as  a  mill  pond,  with  scarcely  a  ripple  to  disturb  it. 
The  men  worked  laboriously  and  silently  at  their 
oars.  A  harbour  seal  pushed  its  head  above  the 
water,  looked  at  the  toiling  men  curiously  for  a 
moment,  then  disappeared  below  the  surface, 
leaving  an  eddy  where  it  had  been.  Gulls  soared 
overhead,  their  white  wings  and  bodies  looking 
very  pure  and  beautiful  in  the  sunlight.  High  in 
the  ah*  a  flock  of  ducks  passed  to  the  southward. 
From  somewhere  in  the  distance  came  the  honk 
o!  a  wild  goose.  The  air  was  laden  with  the 
scent  of  the  great  forest  of  spruce  and  balsam  fir, 
whose  dark  green  barrier  came  down  from  the 
rock-bound,  hazy  hills  in  the  distance  to  the 
very  water's  edge,  where  tamarack  groves,  turned 


38  UNGAVA  BOB 

yellow  by  the  early  frosts,  reflected  the  sunlight 
like  settings  of  rich  gold. 

"'Tis  finel  'tis  grand!"  exclaimed  Bob  at 
last,  as  he  rested  a  moment  on  his  oars  to  drink 
in  the  scene  and  breathe  deeply  the  rare,  fragrant 
atmosphere.  "'Tis  sure  a  fine  world  we're 
in." 

"Aye,  'tis  fine  enough  now,"  remarked  Ed, 
stopping  to  cut  pieces  from  a  plug  of  tobacco, 
and  then  cramming  them  into  his  pipe.  "  But," 
he  continued,  prophetically,  as  he  struck  a  match 
and  held  it  between  his  hands  for  the  sulphur  to 
burn  off,  "bide  a  bit,  an'  you'll  find  it  ugly 
enough  when  th'  snows  blow  t'  smother  ye,  an* 
yer  racquets  sink  with  ye  t'  yer  knees,  and  th' 
frost  freezes  yer  face  and  the  ice  sticks  t'  yer 
very  eyelashes  until  ye  can't  see — then,"  con- 
tinued he,  puffing  vigorously  at  his  pipe,  "  then 
'tis  a  sorry  world — aye,  a  sorry  an'  a  hard  world 
for  folks  t'  make  a  livin'  in." 

It  was  mid-forenoon  when  they  reached  Rab- 
bit Island — a  small  wooded  island  where  the 
passing  dog  drivers  always  stop  in  winter  to 
make  tea  and  snatch  a  mouthful  of  hard  biscuit 
while  the  dogs  have  a  half  hour's  rest. 

?'An'   here  we'll  boil  th'   kettle,"  suggested 


AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  A  BEAR     39 

Dick.  "  I'm  fair  starved  with  an  early  break* 
fast  and  the  pull  at  the  oars." 

"We're  ready  enough  for  that,"  assented  Bill 
"Th'  wind's  prickin'  up  a  bit  from  th'  east'rd, 
an*  when  we  starts  I  thinks  we  may  hoist  the 
sails." 

"  Yes,  th'  wind's  prickin'  up  an'  we'll  have  a 
fair  breeze  t'  help  us  past  th'  Traverspine,  I 
hopes." 

The  landing  was  made.  Bob  and  Ed  each 
took  an  axe  to  cut  into  suitable  lengths  some  of 
the  plentiful  dead  wood  lying  right  to  hand, 
while  Dick  whittled  some  shavings  and  started 
the  fire.  Bill  brought  a  kettle  (a  tin  pail)  of 
water.  Then  he  cut  a  green  sapling  about  five 
feet  in  length,  sharpened  one  end  of  it,  and 
stuck  it  firmly  into  the  earth,  slanting  the  upper 
end  into  position  over  the  fire.  On  this  he  hung 
the  kettle  of  water,  so  that  the  blaze  shot  up 
around  it.  In  a  little  while  the  water  boiled, 
and  with  a  stick  for  a  lifter  he  set  it  on  the 
ground  and  threw  in  a  handful  of  tea.  This 
they  sweetened  with  molasses  and  drank  out  of 
tin  cups  while  they  munched  hardtack. 

Bill's  prophecy  as  to  the  wind  proved  a  true 
one,  and  in  the  half  hour  while  they  were  at  their 


40  UNGAVA  BOB 

luncheon  so  good  a  breeze  had  sprung  up  that 
when  they  left  Rabbit  Island  both  sails  were 
hoisted. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  they  passed  the  Traver- 
spine  River,  and  now  with  some  current  to  op- 
pose made  slower,  though  with  the  fair  wind, 
good  progress,  and  when  the  sun  dipped  behind 
the  western  hills  and  they  halted  to  make  their 
night  camp  they  were  ten  miles  above  the 
Traverspine. 

To  men  accustomed  to  travelling  in  the  bush, 
camp  is  quickly  made.  The  country  here  was 
well  wooded,  and  the  forest  beneath  covered 
with  a  thick  carpet  of  white  moss.  Bob  and  Bill 
selected  two  trees  between  which  they  stretched 
the  ridge  pole  of  a  tent,  and  a  few  moments 
sufficed  to  cut  pegs  and  pin  down  the  canvas. 
Then  spruce  boughs  were  broken  and  spread 
over  the  damp  moss  and  their  shelter  was  ready 
for  occupancy.  Meanwhile  Ed  had  cut  fire- 
wood while  Dick  started  the  fire,  using  for 
kindlings  a  handful  of  dry,  dead  sprigs  from 
the  branches  of  a  spruce  tree,  and  by  the  time 
Bob  and  Bill  had  the  tent  pitched  it  was  blazing 
cheerily,  and  the  appetizing  smell  of  fried  pork 
and  hot  tea  was  in  the  air.  When  supper  was 


AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  A  BEAR     41 

cooked  Ed  threw  on  some  more  sticks,  for  the 
evening  was  frosty,  and  then  they  sat  down  to 
luxuriate  in  its  genial  warmth  and  eat  tiieir 
simple  meal. 

For  an  hour  they  chatted,  while  the  fire 
burned  low,  casting  a  narrowing  circle  of  light 
upon  the  black  wilderness  surrounding  the  little 
camp.  Some  wild  thing  of  the  forest  stole  noise- 
lessly to  the  edge  of  the  outer  darkness,  its  eyes 
shining  like  two  balls  of  fire,  then  it  quietly 
slunk  away  unobserved.  Above  the  fir  tops  the 
blue  dome  of  heaven  seemed  very  near  and  the 
million  stars  that  glittered  there  almost  close 
enough  to  pluck  from  their  azure  setting.  With 
a  weird,  uncanny  light  the  aurora  flashed  its 
changing  colours  restlessly  across  the  sky.  No 
sound  save  the  low  voices  of  the  men  as  they 
talked,  disturbed  the  great  silence  of  the  wilder- 
ness. 

Many  a  time  had  Bob  camped  and  hunted 
with  his  father  near  the  coast,  in  the  forest  to  the 
south  of  Wolf  Bight,  but  he  had  never  been  far 
from  home  and  with  this  his  first  long  journey 
into  the  interior,  a  new  world  and  new  life  were 
opening  to  him.  The  solitude  had  never  im- 
pressed him  before  as  it  did  now.  The  smoke 


42  UNGAVA  BOB 

of  the  camp-fire  and  the  perfume  of  the  forest 
had  never  smelled  so  sweet.  The  romance  of 
the  trail  was  working  its  way  into  his  soul,  and 
to  him  the  land  seemed  filled  with  wonderful 
things  that  he  was  to  search  out  and  uncover  for 
himself.  The  harrowing  tales  that  the  men  were 
telling  of  winter  storms  and  narrow  escapes  from 
wild  animals  had  no  terror  for  him.  He  only 
looked  forward  to  meeting  and  conquering  these 
obstacles  for  himself.  Young  blood  loves  ad- 
venture, and  Bob's  blood  was  strong  and  red 
and  active. 

When  the  fire  died  away  and  only  a  heap  of 
glowing  red  coals  remained,  Dick  knocked  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe,  and  rising  with  a  yawn, 
suggested : 

"I  'lows  it's  time  t'  turn  in.  We'll  have  t'  be 
movin'  early  in  th'  mornin'  an'  we  makes  th* 
Muskrat  Portage." 

Then  they  went  to  the  tent  and  rolled  into 
their  blankets  and  were  soon  sleeping  as  only 
men  can  sleep  who  breathe  the  pure,  free  air  of 
God's  great  out-of-doors. 

Before  noon  the  next  day  they  reached  the 
Muskrat  Falls,  where  the  torrent,  with  a  great 
roar,  pours  down  seventy  feet  over  the  solid 


AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  A  BEAR     43 

rocks.  An  Indian  portage  trail  leads  around  the 
falls  and  meets  the  river  again  half  a  mile  farther 
up.  At  its  beginning  it  ascends  a  steep  incline 
two  hundred  feet,  then  it  runs  away,  compara- 
tively level,  to  its  upper  end  where  it  drops  ab- 
ruptly to  the  water's  edge.  To  pull  a  heavy 
boat  up  this  incline  and  over  the  half  mile  to  the 
launching  place  above,  was  no  small  undertaking. 

Everything  was  unloaded,  the  craft  brought 
ashore,  and  ropes  which  were  carried  for  the 
purpose  attached  to  the  bow.  Then  round  sticks 
of  wood,  for  rollers,  were  placed  under  it,  and 
while  Dick  and  Ed  hauled,  Bob  and  Bill  pushed 
and  lifted  and  kept  the  rollers  straight.  In  this 
manner,  with  infinite  labour,  it  was  worked  to 
the  top  of  the  hill  and  step  by  step  hauled  over 
the  portage  to  the  place  where  it  was  to  enter  the 
water  again.  It  was  nearly  sunset  when  they 
completed  their  task  and  turned  back  to  bring  up 
their  things  from  below. 

They  had  retraced  their  steps  but  a  few  yards 
when  Dick,  who  was  ahead,  darted  off  to  the  left 
of  the  trail  with  the  exclamation : 

"  An'  here's  some  fresh  meat  for  supper." 

It  was  a  porcupine  lumbering  awkwardlj* 
away.  He  easily  killed  it  with  a  stick,  and  pick- 


44  UNGAVA  BOB 

ing  it  up  by  its  tail,  was  about  to  turn  back  into 
the  trail  when  a  fresh  axe  cutting  caught  his  eye. 

"  Now  who's  been  here,  lads  ?  "  said  he,  look- 
ing at  it  closely.  "  None  o'  th'  planters  has  been 
inside  of  th'  Traverspine,  an*  no  Mountaineers 
has  left  th'  post  yet" 

The  others  joined  him  and  scrutinized  the  cut- 
ting, then  looked  for  other  human  signs.  Near 
by  they  found  the  charred  wood  of  a  recent  fire 
and  some  spruce  boughs  that  had  served  for  * 
bed  within  a  day  or  two,  which  was  proved  by 
their  freshly  broken  ends.  It  had  been  the 
couch  of  a  single  man. 

"  Micmac  John,  sure  1 "  said  Ed. 

"  An'  what's  he  doin'  here  ?  "  asked  Bill.  "  He 
has  no  traps  or  huntin'  grounds  handy  t'  this." 

"I'm  thinkin'  'tis  no  good  he's  after,"  said 
Dick.  "Tis  sure  he,  an'  he'll  be  givin*  us 
trouble,  stealin'  our  fur  an'  maybe  worse.  But 
if  7  gets  hold  o*  he,  he'll  be  sorry  for  his  meddlin', 
if  meddlin'  he's  after,  an'  it's  sure  all  he's  here 
for." 

They  hurried  back  to  pitch  camp,  and  when 
the  fire  was  made  the  porcupine  was  thrown 
upon  the  blaze,  and  allowed  to  remain  there  un- 
til its  quills  and  hair  were  scorched  to  a  cinder. 


AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  A  BEAR     45 

Then  Dick,  who  superintended  the  cooking, 
pulled  it  out,  scraped  it  and  dressed  it.  Om 
either  side  of  the  fire  he  drove  a  stake  and  across 
the  tops  of  these  stakes  tied  a  cross  pole.  From 
the  centre  of  this  pole  the  porcupine  was  sus- 
pended by  a  string,  so  that  it  hung  low  and  near 
enough  to  the  fire  to  roast  nicely,  while  it  was 
twirled  around  on  the  string.  It  was  soon  send- 
ing out  a  delicious  odour,  and  in  an  hour  was 
quite  done,  and  ready  to  be  served.  A  dainty 
morsel  it  was  to  the  hungry  voyageurs,  resemb- 
ling in  some  respects  roast  pig,  and  every  scrap 
of  it  they  devoured. 

The  next  morning  all  the  goods  were  carried 
over  the  portage,  and  a  wearisome  fight  began 
against  the  current  of  the  river,  which  was  so 
swift  above  this  point  as  to  preclude  sailing  or 
even  rowing.  A  rope  was  tied  to  the  bow  of  the 
boat  and  on  this  three  of  the  men  hauled,  while 
the  other  stood  in  the  craft  and  with  a  pole  kept 
it  dear  of  rocks  and  other  obstructions.  For 
several  days  this  method  of  travel  continued- 
tracking  it  is  called.  Sometimes  the  men  were 
forced  along  the  sides  of  almost  perpendicular 
banks,  often  they  waded  in  the  water  and  fre- 
quently met  obstacles  like  projecting  cliffs, 


46  UNGAVA  BOB 

around  which  they  passed  with  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty. 

At  the  Porcupine  Rapids  everything  was 
lashed  securely  into  the  boat,  as  a  precaution  in 
case  of  accident,  but  they  overcame  the  rapid 
without  mishap,  and  finally  they  reached  Gull 
Island  Lake,  a  broadening  of  the  river  in  safety, 
and  were  able  to  resume  their  oars  again.  It 
was  a  great  relief  after  the  long  siege  of  tracking, 
and  Ed  voiced  the  feelings  of  all  in  the  remark : 

"  Pullin'  at  th'  oars  is  hard  when  ye  has 
nothin'  harder  t'  do,  but  trackin's  so  much 
harder,  pullin'  seems  easy  alongside  un." 

"  Aye,"  said  Dick,  "  th'  thing  a  man's  doin's 
always  the  hardest  work  un  ever  done.  'Tis  be- 
cause ye  forgets  how  hard  th'  things  is  that  ye've 
done  afore." 

"  An'  it's  just  the  same  in  winter.  When  a 
frosty  spell  comes  folks  thinks  'tis  th'  frostiest 
time  they  ever  knew.  If  'twere,  th'  winters,  I 
'lows' d  be  gettin'  so  cold  folks  couldn't  stand  un, 
I  recollects  one  frosty  spell " 

"  Now  none  o'  yer  yarns,  Ed.  Th'  Lord'll  be 
strikin'  ye  dead  in  His  anger  some  day  when 
ye're  tellin'  what  ain't  so." 

"  I  tells  no  yarns  as  ain't  so,  an'  I  can  prove 


AN  A    VENTURE  WITH  A  BEAR     47 

un  all — leastways  I  could  a  proved  this  un,  only 
it  so  happens  as  I  were  alone.  As  I  was  sayin', 
'twere  so  cold  one  night  last  winter  that  when  I 
was  boilin'  o'  my  kettle  an'  left  th'  door  o'  th' 
tilt  open  for  a  bit  while  I  steps  outside,  th'  wind 
blowin*  in  on  th'  kettle  all  th'  time  hits  th'  steam 
at  th'  spout — an'  what  does  ye  think  I  sees  when 
I  comes  in  ?  " 

"  Ye  sees  steam,  o'  course,  an'  what  else  could 
ye  see,  now  ?  " 

"  'Twere  so  cold — that  wind — blowin'  right  on 
th'  spout  where  th'  steam  comes  out,  when  I 
comes  in  I  looks  an'  I  can't  believe  what  I  sees 
myself.  Well,  now,  I  sees  th'  steam  froze  solid, 
an*  a  string  o'  ice  hangin'  from  th'  spout  right 
down  t'  th'  floor  o'  th'  tilt,  an'  th'  kettle  boilin' 
merry  all  th'  time.  That's  what  I  sees,  an' " 

"  Now  stop  yer  lyin',  Ed.  Ye  knows  no 
un " 

"A  bearl  A  bear!"  interrupted  Bob,  excit- 
edly. "  See  un !  See  un  there  comin'  straight 
to  that  rock !  " 

Sure  enough,  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  away 
a  big  black  bear  was  lumbering  right  down 
towards  them,  and  if  it  kept  its  course  would 
pass  a  large  boulder  standing  some  fifty  yards 


48  UNGAVA  BOB 

back  from  the  river  bank.  The  animal  had  not 
seen  the  boat  nor  scented  the  men,  for  the  wind 
was  blowing  from  it  towards  them. 

"  Run  her  in  here,"  said  Bob,  indicating  a  bit 
of  bank  out  of  the  bear's  range  of  vision,  "  an1 
let  me  ashore  t'  have  a  chance  at  un." 

The  instant  the  boat  touched,  land  he  grabbed 
his  gun — a  single-barrelled,  muzzle  loader — 
bounded  noiselessly  ashore,  and  stooping  low 
gained  the  shelter  of  the  boulder  unobserved. 

The  unsuspecting  bear  came  leisurely  on,  bent, 
no  doubt,  upon  securing  a  drink  of  water  to  wash 
down  a  feast  of  blueberries  of  which  it  had  just 
partaken,  and  seemingly  occupied  by  the  pleas- 
ant reveries  that  follow  a  good  meal  and  go  with 
a  full  stomach.  Bob  could  hear  it  coming  now, 
and  raised  his  gun  ready  to  give  it  the  load  the 
moment  it  passed  the  rock.  Then,  suddenly,  he 
remembered  that  he  had  loaded  the  gun  that 
morning  with  shot,  when  hunting  a  flock  of  par- 
tridges, and  had  failed  to  reload  with  ball.  To 
kill  a  bear  with  a  partridge  load  of  shot  was  out 
of  the  question,  and  to  wound  the  bear  at  close 
quarters  was  dangerous,  for  a  wounded  bear 
with  its  enemy  within  reach  is  pretty  sure  to  re- 
taliate. 


AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  A  BEAR     49 

Just  at  the  instant  this  thought  flashed  through 
Bob's  mind  the  big  black  side  of  the  bear  ap- 
peared not  ten  feet  from  the  muzzle  of  his  gun, 
and  before  the  lad  realized  it  he  had  pulled  the 
trigger. 

Bob  did  not  stop  to  see  the  result  of  the  shot, 
but  ran  at  full  speed  towards  the  boat  The  bear 
gave  an  angry  growl,  and  for  a  moment  bit  at 
the  wound  in  its  side,  then  in  a  rage  took  after 
him. 

It  was  not  over  fifty  yards  to  the  boat,  and 
though  Bob  had  a  few  seconds  the  start,  the  bear 
seemed  likely  to  catch  him  before  he  could  reach 
it,  for  clumsy  though  they  are  in  appearance, 
they  are  fast  travellers  when  occasion  demands. 
Half  the  distance  was  covered  in  a  jiffy,  but  the 
bear  was  almost  at  his  heels.  A  few  more  leaps 
and  he  would  be  within  reach  of  safety.  He 
could  fairly  feel  the  bear's  breath.  Then  his  foot 
caught  a  projecting  branch  and  he  fell  at  full 
tength  directly  in  front  of  the  infuriated  animal 


IV 

SWEPT  AWAY  IN  THE  RAPIDS 

WHEN  Bob  went  ashore  Dick  followed 
as  far  as  a  clump  of  bushes  at  the  top 
of  the  bank  below  which  the  boat 
was  concealed,  and  crouching  there  witnessed 
Bob's  flight  from  the  bear,  and  was  very  close  to 
him  when  he  fell.  Dick  had  already  drawn  a  bead 
on  the  animal's  head,  and  just  at  the  moment 
Bob  stumbled  fired.  The  bear  made  one  blind 
strike  with  his  paw  and  then  fell  forward,  its 
momentum  sending  it  upon  Bob's  sprawling  legs, 
Dick  laughed  uproariously  at  the  boy  as  he  ex- 
tricated himself. 

"Well,  now,"  he  roared,  "'twere  as  fine  a 
race  as  I  ever  see — as  I  ever  see — an'  ye  were 
handy  t'  winnin'  but  for  th*  tumble.  A  rare  fine 
race." 

Bob  was  rather  shamefaced,  for  an  old  hunter 
would  scarcely  have  forgotten  himself  to  such  an 
extent  as  to  go  bear  hunting  with  a  partridge 
load  in  his  gun,  and  he  did  not  like  to  be 
laughed  at 

50 


SWEPT  AWAY  IN  THE  RAPIDS      51 

"  Anyhow,"  said  he,  "I  let  un  have  un  first 
An'  I  led  un  down  where  you  could  shoot  un. 
An'  he's  a  good  fat  un,"  he  commented  kicking 
the  carcass. 

Ed  and  Bill  had  arrived  now  and  all  hands 
went  to  work  at  once  skinning  the  bear. 

"  Speakin'  o'  bein'  chased  by  bears,"  remarked 
Ed  as  they  worked,  "  onct  I  were  chased  pretty 
hard  myself  an'  that  time  I  come  handy  t'  bein' 
done  for  sure  enough." 

"  An'  how  were  that?  "  asked  Bob. 

"  'Twere  one  winter  an'  I  were  tendin'  my  trail. 
I  stops  at  noon  t'  boil  th'  kettle,  an'  just  has  th' 
fire  goin'  fine  an'  th'  water  over  when  all  t'  a 
sudden  I  hears  a  noise  behind  me  and  turnhr* 
sees  a  black  bear  right  handy  t'  me — th'  biggest 
black  bear  I  ever  seen — an'  makin'  fer  me.  I 
jumps  up  an'  grabs  my  gun  an'  lets  un  have  it, 
but  wi'  th'  suddenness  on  it  I  misses,  an'  away  I 
starts  an'  'twere  lucky  I  has  my  racquets  on,," 

"Were  this  in  winter?"  asked  Dick. 

"  It  were  in  winter." 

"Th'  bears  as  /knows  don't  travel  in  winter, 
They  sleeps  then,  leastways  all  but  white  bears." 

"Well,  this  were  in  winter  an'  this  bear  weren't 
sleepin'  much.  As  I  was  sayin' " 


3S  UNGAVA  BOB 

"An*  he  took  after  ye  without  bein'  pro* 
yoked?" 

"  An'  he  did  an'  right  smart." 

"  Well  he  were  a  queer  bear — a  queer  un — th* 
queerest  I  ever  hear  tell  about.  Awake  in  winter 
an'  takin*  after  folks  without  bein'  provoked.  'Tis 
th'  first  black  bear  /  ever  heard  tell  about  that 
done  that  I  knows  bears  pretty  well  an'  they 
alus  takes  tother  way  about  as  fast  as  their  legs 
'11  carry  un." 

"  Now,  if  you  wants  me  t'  tell  about  this  bear 
ye'll  ha'  t'  stop  interruptin'." 

"  No  one  said  as  they  wanted  ye  to." 

"  Now  I'm  goin'  t'  tell  un  whatever. 

"  As  I  were  sayin',  th'  bear  he  takes  after  me 
wi'  his  best  licks  an'  I  takes  off  an'  tries  t'  load 
my  gun  as  I  runs.  I  drops  in  a  han'ful  o'  pow- 
der an'  then  finds  I  gone  an'  left  my  ball  pouch 
at  th'  fire.  It  were  pretty  hard  runnin'  wi'  my 
racquets  sinkin'  in  th'  snow,  which  were  new  an1 
soft  an'  I  were  losin'  ground  an'  gettin'  winded 
an'  'twere  lookin*  like  un's  goin' t'  cotch  me  sure. 
All  t'  onct  I  see  a  place  where  the  snow's  drifted 
up  three  fathoms  deep  agin  a  ledge  an'  even  wi' 
th'  top  of  un  I  makes  for  un  an'  runs  right  over 
th'  upper  side  an'  th'  bear  he  comes  too,  but  he 


SWEPT  AWAY  IN  THE  RAPIDS      53 

has  no  racquets  and  th'  snow's  soft,  bein'  fresh 
drift  an'  down  he  goes  sinkin'  most  out  o'  sight 
an*  th'  more  un  wallers  th'  worse  off  un  is." 

"  An'  what  does  you  do  ?  "  asks  Bob. 

"  What  does  I  do  ?  I  stops  an'  laughs  at  un  a 
bit  Then  I  lashes  my  sheath  knife  on  th'  end  o' 
a  pole  spear-like,  an'  sticks  th'  bear  back  o'  th' 
fore  leg  an'  kills  un,  an'  then  I  has  bear's  meat 
wi'  my  tea,  an'  in  th'  spring  gets  four  dollars  from 
th'  company  for  the  skin." 

In  twenty  minutes  they  had  the  pelt  removed 
from  the  bear  and  Dick  generously  insisted  upon 
Bob  taking  it  as  the  first-fruits  of  his  inland  hunt, 
saying :  "  Ye  earned  he  wi'  yer  runnin'." 

The  best  of  the  meat  was  cut  from  the  carcass, 
and  that  night  thick,  luscious  steaks  were  broiled 
for  supper,  and  the  remainder  packed  for  future 
use  on  the  journey. 

Fine  weather  had  attended  the  voyageurs  thus 
far  but  that  night  the  sky  clouded  heavily  and 
when  they  emerged  from  the  tent  the  next  morn- 
ing a  thick  blanket  of  snow  covered  the  earth  and 
weighted  down  the  branches  of  the  spruce  trees. 
The  storm  had  spent  itself  in  the  night,  however 
and  the  day  was  clear  and  sparkling.  Very 
beautiful  the  white  world  looked  when  the  sur 


54  UNGAVA  BOB 

came  to  light  it  up  ;  but  the  snow  made  tracking 
less  easy,  and  warned  the  travellers  that  no  time 
must  be  lost  in  reaching  their  destination,  for  it 
was  a  harbinger  of  the  winter  blasts  and  blizzards 
soon  to  blow. 

Early  that  afternoon  they  came  in  view  of  the 
rushing  waters  of  the  Gull  Island  Rapids,  with 
their  big  foam  crested  waves  angrily  assailing 
the  rocks  that  here  and  there  raised  their  ominous 
heads  above  the  torrent.  The  greater  length 
of  these  rapids  can  be  tracked,  with  some  short 
portages  around  the  worst  places.  Before  enter- 
ing them  everything  was  lashed  securely  into 
the  boat,  as  at  the  Porcupine  Rapids,  and  the 
tracking  line  fastened  a  few  inches  back  of  the 
bow  leaving  enough  loose  end  to  run  to  the 
stern  and  this  was  tied  securely  there  to  relieve 
the  unusual  strain  on  the  bow  fastening.  Ed 
took  the  position  of  steersman  in  the  boat,  while 
the  other  three  were  to  haul  upon  the  line. 

When  all  was  made  ready  and  secure,  they 
started  forward,  bringing  the  craft  into  the  heavy 
water,  which  opposed  its  progress  so  vigorously 
that  it  seemed  as  though  the  rope  must  surely 
snap.  Stronger  and  stronger  became  the  strain 
%ad  harder  and  aarder  pulled  the  men.  All  of 


SWEPT  AWAY  IN  THE  RAPIDS      55 

Ed's  skill  was  required  to  keep  the  boat  straight 
in  the  treacherous  cross  current  eddies  where  the 
water  swept  down  past  the  half-hidden  rocks  in 
the  river  bed. 

They  were  pushing  on  tediously  but  surely 
when  suddenly  and  without  warning  the  fasten- 
ing at  the  bow  broke  loose,  the  boat  swung 
away  into  the  foam,  and  in  a  moment  was 
swallowed  up  beneath  the  waves.  The  rear 
fastening  held  however  and  the  boat  was  thrown 
in  against  the  bank. 

But  Ed  had  disappeared  in  the  fearful  flood  of 
rushing  white  water.  The  other  three  stood 
appalled.  It  seemed  to  them  that  no  power  on 
earth  could  save  him.  He  must  certainly  be 
dashed  to  death  upon  the  rocks  or  smothered 
beneath  the  onrushing  foam. 

For  a  moment  all  were  inert,  paralyzed. 
Then  Dick,  accustomed  to  act  quickly  in  every 
emergency,  slung  the  line  around  a  boulder, 
took  a  half  hitch  to  secure  it  and,  without  stop- 
ping to  see  whether  it  would  hold  or  not,  ran 
down  stream  at  top  speed  with  Bob  and  Bill  af 
his  heels. 


THE  TRAILS  ARE  REACHED 

ED  had  been  cast  away  in  rapids  before, 
and  when  he  found  himself  in  the  water, 
with  the  wilderness  traveller's  quick  ap- 
preciation of  the  conditions,  he  lay  limp,  without 
a  struggle.  If  he  permitted  the  current  to  carry 
him  in  its  own  way  on  its  course,  he  might  be 
swept  past  the  rocks  uninjured  to  the  still  water 
below.  If  one  struggle  was  made  it  might  throw 
him  out  of  the  current's  course  against  a  boulder, 
where  he  would  be  pounded  to  death  or  rendered 
unconscious  and  surely  drowned.  He  was  swept 
on  much  more  rapidly  than  his  companions 
could  run  and  quite  hidden  from  them  by  the 
big  foam-crested  waves. 

It  seemed  ages  to  the  helpless  man  before 
he  felt  his  speed  slacken  and  finally  found 
himself  in  the  eddy  where  they  had  begun  to 
track.  Here  he  struck  out  for  the  river  bank 
only  a  few  yards  distant,  and,  half  drowned, 
succeeded  in  pulling  himself  ashore.  A  few 
minutes  later,  when  the  others  came  running 
56 


THE  TRAILS  ARE  REACHED        57 

down,  they  found  him,  to  their  great  idief,  sitting 
on  the  bank  quite  safe,  wringing  the  water  from 
his  clothing,  and  their  fear  that  he  was  injured 
was  quickly  dispelled  by  his  looking  up  as  they 
approached  and  remarking,  as  though  nothing 
unusual  had  occurred, 

"  Bathin's  chilly  this  time  o'  year.  Let's  put 
on  a  fire  an*  boil  th'kettle." 

"  I  don't  know  as  we  got  a  kettle  or  any  thin* 
else,"  said  Dick,  laughing  at  Ed's  bedraggled 
appearance  and  matter-of-fact  manner.  "  We 
better  go  back  an'  see.  I  hitched  th'  trackin* 
line  to  a  rock,  but  I  don't  know's  she's  held." 

"  Well,  let's  look.  I'm  a  bit  damp,  an'  thinkin' 
7  wants  a  fire,  whatever." 

A  cold  northwest  wind  had  sprung  up  in  the 
afternoon  and  the  snow  was  drifting  unpleasantly 
and  before  the  boat  was  reached  Ed's  wet  gar- 
ments  were  frozen  stiff  as  a  coat  of  mail  and  he 
was  so  chilled  through  that  he  could  scarcely 
walk.  The  line  had  held  and  they  found  the 
boat  in  an  eddy  below  a  high  big  boulder.  It 
was  submerged,  but  quite  safe,  with  everything, 
thanks  to  the  careful  lashings,  in  its  place,  save 
a  shoulder  of  bear's  meat  that  had  loosened  and 
washed  away. 


58  UNGAVA  BOB 

"  I  thinks,  lads,  we'll  be  makin'  camp  here; 
Whilst  I  puts  a  fire  on  an'  boils  th'  kettle  t'  warm 
Ed  up,  you  pitch  camp.  'Twill  be  nigh  sun- 
down afore  Ed  gets  dried  out,  an'  too  late  t'  go 
any  farther,"  suggested  Dick. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  fire  was  roaring  and  Ed 
thawing  out  and  drinking  hot  tea  as  he  basked 
in  the  blaze,  while  Dick  chopped  fire-wood  and 
Bob  and  Bill  unloaded  the  boat  and  put  up  the 
tent  and  made  it  snug  for  the  night. 

Heretofore  they  had  found  the  outside  camp-fire 
quite  sufficient  for  their  needs,  and  had  not  gone 
to  the  trouble  of  setting  up  the  stove,  but  it  was 
yet  somet'me  before  dark,  and  as  the  wet  clothing 
and  outfit  could  be  much  more  easily  and  quickly 
dried  under  the  shelter  of  the  heated  tent  than 
in  the  drifting  snow  by  the  open  fire,  it  was  de- 
cided to  put  the  stove  in  use  on  this  occasion. 
Bob  selected  a  flat  stone  upon  which  to  rest  it, 
for  without  this  protection  the  moss  beneath, 
coming  into  contact  with  the  hot  metal,  would 
have  dried  quickly  and  taken  fire. 

When  everything  was  brought  in  and  dis- 
tributed in  the  best  place  to  dry,  Bob  took  some 
birch  bark,  thrust  it  into  the  stove  and  lighted  it 
(nstantly  it  flared  up  as  though  it  had  been  oil 


THE  TRAILS  ARE  REACHED        59 

soaked.  This  made  excellent  kindling  for  the 
wood  that  was  piled  on  top,  and  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  the  tent  was  warm  and  snug  as  any 
house.  Ed  left  the  open  fire  and  joined  Bob 
and  Bill,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Dick  came  in 
with  an  armful  of  wood. 

"Well,  un  had  a  good  wettin'  an*  a  cold 
souse,"  said  he,  as  he  piled  the  wood  neatly 
behind  the  stove,  addressing  himself  to  Ed,  who, 
now  quite  recovered  from  his  chill,  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  stove,  puffing  contentedly  at  hb 
pipe,  with  the  steam  pouring  out  of  his  wet  clothes. 

"  'Twere  just  a  fine  time  wi'  th'  dip  I  had  ten 
year  ago  th'  winter  comin',"  said  Ed,  rumi- 
natively.  "  'Twere  nothirf  to  that  un." 

"  An'  where  were  that  ?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  I  were  out  o'  tea  in  March,  an'  handy  to 
havin'  no  tobaccy,  an'  I  says  t'  myself,  '  Ed,  ye 
can't  stay  in  th'  bush  till  th'  break  up  wi'  nary  a 
bit  o'  tea,  and  ye'd  die  wi'out  tobaccy.  Now  ye 
got  t'  make  th'  cruise  t'  th'  Post'  Well,  I  fixes 
up  my  traps,  an'  packs  grub  for  a  week  on  my 
flat  sled  (toboggan)  an'  off  I  goes.  'Twere  fair 
goin*  wi'  good  hard  footin'  an'  I  makes  fine  time. 
Below  th'  Gull  Rapids,  just  above  where  I  come 
ashore  th'  day,  I  takes  t'  th'  ice  thinkin'  un 


60  UNGAVA  BOB 

good,  an'  'twere  lucky  I  has  my  racquets  lashed 
on  th'  flat  sled  an'  not  walkin'  wi'  un,  for  I  never 
could  a  swum  wi'  un  on.  Two  fathoms  from  th' 
shore  I  steps  on  bad  ice  an'  in  I  goes,  head  an1 
all,  an*  th'  current  snatches  me  offn  my  feet  an' 
carries  me  under  th'  ice,  an'  afore  I  knows  un  I 
finds  th'  water  carryin'  me  along  as  fast  as  a  deer 
when  he  gets  th'  wind." 

"  An'  how  did  un  get  out  ? "  asked  Bob  in 
open-mouthed  wonder. 

"'Twere  sure  a  hard  fix  under  th'  ice,"  re- 
marked Bill,  equally  interested. 

"  A  wonderful  hard  fix,  a  wonderful  hard  fix, 
under  th'  ice,  an'  I  were  handy  t'  stayin'  under 
un,"  said  Ed,  taking  evident  delight  in  keeping 
his  auditors  in  suspense.  "  Aye,  a  wonderful 
hard  fix,"  continued  he,  while  he  hacked  pieces 
irom  his  tobacco  plug  and  filled  his  pipe. 

"An'  where  were  I?"  asked  Dick,  making  a 
quick  calculation  of  past  events.  "  I  were  huntin* 
wi'  un  ten  year  ago,  an'  I  don't  mind  ye're 
gettin'  in  th'  ice." 

"  'Twere  th'  winter  un  were  laid  up  wi'  th* 
lame  leg,  an'  poor  Frank  Morgan  were  huntin 
along  wi'  me.  Frank  were  lost  th'  same  spring 
in  th'  Bay.  Does  un  mind  that  ?  " 


THE  TRAILS  ARE  REACHED        61 

"  'Twere  only  nine  year  ago  I  were  laid  up 
an'  Frank  were  huntin'  my  trail,"  said  Dick. 

"  Well,  maybe  'twere  only  nine  year ;  'twere 
nine  or  ten  year  ago,"  Ed  continued,  with  some 
show  of  impatience  at  Dick's  questioning. 
"  Leastways  'twere  thereabouts.  Well,  I  finds 
myself  away  off  from  th'  hole  I'd  dropped  into, 
an'  no  way  o'  findin'  he.  The  river  were  low 
an'  had  settled  a  foot  below  th'  ice,  which  were 
four  or  five  feet  thick  over  my  head,  an'  no  way 
o'  cuttin'  out  So  what  does  I  do  ?  " 

"  An'  what  does  un  do  ?  "  asked  Dick. 

"What  does  I  do?  I  keeps  shallow  water 
near  th'  shore  an'  holdin'  my  head  betwixt  ice 
an'  water  makes  down  t'  th'  Porcupine  Rapids. 
Twere  a  long  an'  wearisome  pull,  an'  thinks  I, 
''Tis  too  much — un's  done  for  now.'  After  a 
time  I  sees  light  an'  I  goes  for  un.  'Twere  a 
place  near  a  rock  where  th'  water  swingin'  around 
had  kept  th'  ice  thin.  I  gets  t'  un  an'  makes  a 
footin'  on  th'  rock.  I  gets  out  my  knife  an 
finds  th'  ice  breaks  easy,  an'  cuts  a  hole  an'  crawls 
out  By  th'  time  I  gets  on  th'  ice  I  were  pretty 
handy  t'  givin*  up  wi'  th'  cold." 

"Twere  a  close  call,"  assented  Dick,  as  he 
puffed  at  his  pipe  meditatively. 


62  UNGAVA  BOB 

"  How  far  did  un  go  under  th'  ice  ? "  asked 
Bill,  who  had  been  much  interested  in  the  nar- 
rative. 

"  Handy  t'  two  mile." 

For  several  days  after  this  the  men  worked 
very  hard  from  early  dawn  until  the  evening 
darkness  drove  them  into  camp.  The  current 
was  swift  and  the  rapids  great  surging  torrents 
of  angry  water  that  seemed  bent  upon  driving 
them  back.  One  after  another  the  Horseshoe, 
the  Ninipi,  and  finally,  after  much  toil,  the  Mouni 
Rapids  were  met  and  conquered. 

The  weather  was  stormy  and  disagreeable. 
Nearly  every  day  the  air  was  filled  with  driving 
snow  or  beating  cold  rain  that  kept  them  wet  to 
the  skin  and  would  have  sapped  the  courage 
and  broken  the  spirit  of  less  determined  men. 
But  they  did  not  mind  it.  It  was  the  sort  of 
thing  they  had  been  accustomed  to  all  their  life. 

With  each  morning,  Bob,  full  of  the  wilder- 
ness spirit,  took  up  the  work  with  as  much  enthu* 
siasm  as  on  the  day  he  left  Wolf  Bight.  At  night 
when  he  was  very  tired  and  just  a  bit  homesick, 
he  would  try  to  picture  to  himself  the  little  cabin 
that  now  seemed  far,  far  away,  and  he  would  say 
to  himself, 


THE  TRAILS  ARE  REACHED        63 

"If  I  could  spend  th'  night  there  now,  an* 
be  back  here  in  th'  mornin',  'twould  be  fine. 
But  when  I  does  go  back,  the  goin'  home' 11  be 
fine,  an'  pay  for  all  th'  bein'  away.  An'  the  Lard 
lets  me,  I'll  have  th'  fur  t'  send  Emily  t'  th'  doc- 
tors an'  make  she  well." 

One  day  the  clouds  grew  tired  of  sending 
forth  snow  and  rain,  and  the  wind  forgot 
blow,  and  the  waters  became  weary  of  their 
rushing.  The  morning  broke  clear  and  beauti- 
ful, and  the  sun,  in  a  blaze  of  red  and  orange 
grandeur,  displayed  the  world  in  all  its  rugged 
primeval  beauty.  The  travellers  had  reached 
Lake  Wonakapow,  a  widening  of  the  river, 
where  the  waters  were  smooth  and  no  current 
opposed  their  progress.  For  the  first  time  in 
many  days  the  sails  were  hoisted,  and,  released 
from  the  hard  work,  the  men  sat  back  to  enjoy 
the  rest,  while  a  fair  breeze  sent  them  up  the 
lake. 

"  Tis  fine  t*  have  a  spell  from  th'  trackin1,"  re- 
marked Ed  as  he  lighted  his  pipe. 

"  Aye,  'tis  that,"  assented  Dick,  "  an*  we  been 
makin*  rare  good  time  wi'  this  bad  weather. 
We're  three  days  ahead  o'  my  reckonin'." 

How  beautiful  it  was  I    The  water,  deep  and 


64  UNGAVA  BOB 

dark,  leading  far  away,  every  rugged  hill  capped 
with  snow,  and  the  white  peaks  sparkling  in  the 
sunshine.  A  loon  laughed  at  them  as  they 
passed,  and  an  invisible  wolf  on  a  mountain 
side  sent  forth  its  long  weird  cry  of  defiance. 

They  sailed  quietly  on  for  an  hour  or  two. 
Finally  Ed  pointed  out  to  Bob  a  small  log  shack 
standing  a  few  yards  back  from  the  shore,  say- 
ing: 

"  An*  there's  my  tilt.     Here  I  leaves  un." 

Bill  Campbell  was  at  the  tiller,  and  the  boat 
was  headed  to  a  strip  of  sandy  beach  near  the 
tilt.  Presently  they  landed.  Ed's  things  were 
separated  from  the  others  and  taken  ashore,  and 
all  hands  helped  him  carry  them  up  to  the  tilt. 

There  was  no  window  in  the  shack  and  the 
doorway  was  not  over  four  feet  high.  Within 
was  a  single  room  about  six  by  eight  feet  in  size, 
with  a  rude  couch  built  of  saplings,  running  along 
two  sides,  upon  which  spruce  boughs,  used  the 
previous  year  and  now  dry  and  dead,  were 
strewn  for  a  bed.  The  floor  was  of  earth.  The 
tilt  contained  a  sheet  iron  stove  similar  to  the 
one  Bob  had  brought,  but  no  other  furniture  save 
a  few  cooking  utensils.  The  round  logs  of 
which  the  rough  building  was  constructed,  were 


THE  TRAILS  ARE  REACHED        65 

well  chinked  between  them  with  moss,  making  it 
snug  and  warm. 

This  was  where  Ed  kept  his  base  of  supplies. 
His  trail  began  here  and  ran  inland  and  nearly 
northward  for  some  distance  to  a  lake  whose 
shores  it  skirted,  and  then,  taking  a  swing  to  the 
southwest,  came  back  to  the  river  again  and 
ended  where  Dick's  began,  and  the  two  trappers 
had  a  tilt  there  which  they  used  in  common. 
Between  these  tilts  were  four  others  at  intervals 
of  twelve  to  fifteen  miles,  for  night  shelters,  the 
distance  between  them  constituting  a  day's  work, 
the  trail  from  end  to  end  being  about  seventy 
miles  long. 

The  trails  which  the  other  three  were  to  hunt 
led  off,  one  from  the  other — Dick's,  Bill's  and  then 
the  Big  Hill  trail,  with  tilts  at  the  juncture  points 
and  along  them  in  a  similar  manner  to  the 
arrangement  of  Ed's,  and  each  trail  covering 
about  the  same  number  of  miles  as  his.  Each 
man  could  therefore  walk  the  length  of  his  trail 
in  five  days,  if  the  weather  were  good,  and, 
starting  from  one  end  on  Monday  morning  have 
a  tilt  to  sleep  in  each  night  and  reach  his  last  tilt 
on  the  other  end  Friday  night.  This  gave  him 
Saturday  in  which  to  do  odd  jobs  like  mending; 


66  UNGAVA  BOB 

and  Sunday  for  rest,  before  taking  up  the  round 
again  on  Monday. 

It  was  yet  too  early  by  three  weeks  to  begin 
the  actual  trapping,  but  much  in  the  way  of 
preparation  had  to  be  done  in  the  meantime, 
f  his  was  Tuesday,  and  it  was  agreed  that  two 
weeks  from  the  following  Saturday  Ed  and  Dick 
should  be  at  the  tilt  where  their  trails  met  and 
Bill  and  Bob  at  the  junction  of  their  trails,  ready 
to  start  their  work  on  the  next  Monday.  This 
would  bring  Dick  and  Bill  together  on  the  fol- 
lowing Friday  night  and  Bob  and  Ed  would 
each  be  alone,  one  at  either  end  of  the  series  of 
trails  and  more  than  a  hundred  miles  from  his 
nearest  neighbour. 

"  I  hopes  your  first  cruise'll  be  a  good  un,  an* 
you'll  be  doin'  fine  th'  winter,  Bob.  Have  a  care 
now  for  th'  Nascaupees,"  said  Ed  as  they  shook 
hands  at  parting. 

"Thanks,"  answered  Bob,  "an*  I  hopes  you*U 
be  havin'  a  fine  hunt  too." 

Then  they  were  off,  and  Ed's  long  winter's 
work  began. 

The  next  afternoon  Dick's  first  tilt  was 
reached,  and  a  part  of  his  provisions  and  some 
of  Ed's  that  they  had  brought  on  for  him,  were 


THE  TRAILS  ARE  REACHED        67 

unloaded  there.  Dick,  however,  decided  to  go 
with  the  young  men  to  the  tilt  at  the  beginning 
of  the  Big  Hill  trail,  to  help  them  haul  the  boat 
up  and  make  it  snug  for  the  winter,  saying,  "  I'm 
thinkin'  you  might  find  her  too  heavy,  an'  I'll 
go  on  an'  give  a  hand,  an'  cut  across  to  my  trail, 
which  I  can  do  handy  enough  in  a  day,  havin* 
no  pack." 

An  hour  before  dark  on  Friday  evening  they 
reached  the  tilt.  Dick  was  the  first  to  enter  it, 
and  as  he  pushed  open  the  door  he  stopped 
with  the  exclamation : 

"  That  rascal  Micmac  1 ' 


VI 

ALONE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

THE  stove  and  stovepipe  were  gone,  and 
fresh,  warm  ashes  on  the  floor  gave 
conclusive  proof  that  the  theft  had  been 
perpetrated  that  very  day.  Some  one  had  been 
occupjing  the  tilt,  too,  as  new  boughs  spread  for 
a  bed  made  evident. 

"  More  o'  Micmac  John's  work,"  commented 
Dick  as  he  kicked  the  ashes.  "  He's  been  takin' 
th'  stove  an'  he'll  be  takin'  th'  fur  too,  an'  he  gets 
a  chance." 

"  Maybe  'twere  Mountaineers,"  suggested  BilL 

"No,  'twere  no  Mountaineers — them  don't 
steal.  No  un  ever  heard  o'  a  Mountaineer 
takin'  things  as  belongs  to  other  folks.  Injuns 
be  honest — leastways  all  but  half-breeds." 

"  Nascaupees  might  a  been  here,"  offered  Bob, 
having  in  mind  the  stories  he  had  heard  of  them, 
and  feeling  now  that  he  was  almost  amongst 
them. 

"  No,  Nascaupees  'd  have  no  use  for  a  stove* 
They'd  ha*  burned  th'  tilt.  Tis  Micmac  John, 
68 


ALONE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS       69 

an'  he  be  here  t'  steal  fur.  Tis  t'  steal  fur's 
what  he  be  after.  But  let  me  ketch  un,  an' 
he  won't  steal  much  more  fur,"  insisted  Dick, 
worked  up  to  a  very  wrathful  pitch. 

They  looked  outside  for  indications  of  the  course 
the  marauder  had  taken,  and  discovered  that  he 
had  returned  to  the  river,  where  his  canoe  had 
been  launched  a  little  way  above  the  tilt,  and  had 
either  crossed  to  the  opposite  side  or  gone 
higher  up  stream.  In  either  case  it  was  useless 
to  attempt  to  follow  him,  as,  if  they  caught  him 
at  all,  it  would  be  after  a  chase  of  several  days, 
and  they  could  not  well  afford  the  time.  There 
was  nothing  to  do,  therefore,  but  make  the  best 
of  it.  Bob's  tent  stove  was  set  up  in  place  of  the 
one  that  had  been  stolen.  Then  everything  was 
stowed  away  in  the  tilt. 

The  next  morning  came  cold  and  gray,  with 
heavy,  low-hanging  clouds,  threatening  an  early 
storm.  The  boat  was  hauled  well  up  on  the 
shore,  and  a  log  protection  built  over  it  to 
prevent  the  heavy  snows  that  were  soon  to  come 
from  breaking  it  down. 

Before  noon  the  first  flakes  of  the  promised 
storm  fell  lazily  to  the  earth  and  in  half  an  hour 
it  was  coming  so  thickly  that  the  river  twenty 


70  UNGAVA  BOB 

yards  away  could  not  be  seen,  and  the  wind  was 
rising.  The  three  cut  a  supply  of  dry  wood  and 
piled  what  they  could  in  the  tilt,  placing  the  rest 
within  reach  of  the  door.  Then  armfuls  of  boughs 
were  broken  for  their  bed.  All  the  time  the  storm 
was  increasing  in  power  and  by  nightfall  a  gala 
was  blowing  and  a  veritable  blizzard  raging. 

When  all  was  made  secure,  a  good  fire  was 
started  in  the  stove,  a  candle  lighted,  and  some 
partridges  that  had  been  killed  in  the  morning 
put  over  with  a  bit  of  pork  to  boil  for  supper. 
While  these  were  cooking  Bill  mixed  some  flour 
with  water,  using  baking  soda  for  leaven— 
"  risin' "  he  called  it — into  a  dough  which  he 
formed  into  cakes  as  large  in  circumference  as 
the  pan  would  accommodate  and  a  quarter  of  an 
inch  thick.  These  cakes  he  fried  in  pork  grease. 
This  was  the  sort  of  bread  that  they  were  to  eat 
through  the  winter. 

The  meal  was  a  cozy  one.  Outside  the  wind 
shrieked  angrily  and  swirled  the  snow  in  smother- 
ing clouds  around  the  tilt,  and  rattled  the  stove- 
pipe, threatening  to  shake  it  down.  It  was  very 
pleasant  to  be  out  of  it  all  in  the  snug,  warm 
shack  with  the  stove  crackling  contentedly  and 
the  place  filled  with  the  mingled  odours  of  the 


ALONE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS        71 

steaming  kettle  of  partridges  and  tea  and  spruce 
boughs.  To  the  hunters  it  seemed  luxurious 
after  their  tedious  fight  against  the  swift  river. 
Times  like  this  bring  ample  recompense  to  the 
wilderness  traveller  for  the  most  strenuous  hard- 
ships that  he  is  called  upon  to  endure.  The  mem- 
ory of  one  such  night  will  make  men  forget  a 
month  of  suffering.  Herein  lies  one  of  the  secret 
charms  of  the  wilds. 

When  supper  was  finished  Dick  and  Bill  filled 
their  pipes,  and  with  coals  from  the  stove  lighted 
them.  Then  they  lounged  back  and  puffed  with  an 
air  of  such  perfect,  speechless  bliss  that  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  Bob  felt  a  desire  to  smoke.  He 
drew  from  his  pocket  the  pipe  Douglas  had  given 
him  and  filled  it  from  a  plug  of  the  tobacco. 
When  he  reached  for  a  firebrand  to  light  it  Dick 
noticed  what  he  was  doing  and  asked  good  na- 
turedly, — 

"Think  t'  smoke  with  us,  eh?" 

"  Yes,  thinks  I'll  try  un." 

"  An'  be  gettin'  sick  before  un  knows  it,"  vol- 
unteered Bill. 

Disregarding  the  suggestion  Bob  fired  his  pipe 
and  lay  back  with  the  air  of  an  old  veteran.  He 
soon  found  that  he  did  not  like  it  very  much,  and 


72  UNGAVA  BOB 

in  a  little  while  he  felt  a  queer  sensation  in  his 
stomach,  but  it  was  not  in  Bob's  nature  to  ac- 
knowledge himself  beaten  so  easily,  and  he 
puffed  on  doggedly.  Pretty  soon  beads  of  perspi- 
ration stood  out  upon  his  forehead  and  he  grew 
white.  Then  he  quietly  laid  aside  the  pipe  and 
groped  his  way  unsteadily  out  of  doors,  for  he 
was  very  dizzy  and  faint.  When  he  finally  re- 
turned he  was  too  sick  to  pay  any  attention  to 
the  banter  of  his  companions,  who  unsympa- 
thetically  made  fun  of  him,  and  he  lay  down  with 
the  inward  belief  that  smoking  was  not  the 
pleasure  it  was  said  to  be,  and  as  for  himself  he 
would  never  touch  a  pipe  again. 

All  day  Sunday  and  Monday  the  storm  blew 
with  unabated  fury  and  the  three  were  held  close 
prisoners  in  the  tilt  On  Monday  night  it  cleared, 
and  Tuesday  morning  came  clear  and  rasping 
cold. 

Long  before  daylight  breakfast  was  eaten 
and  preparations  made  for  travelling.  Bob 
lashed  his  tent,  cooking  utensils,  some  traps  and 
a  supply  of  provisions  upon  one  of  two  tobog- 
gans that  leaned  against  the  tilt  outside.  The 
other  one  was  for  Bill  when  he  should  need  it 
Dick  did  up  his  blanket  and  a  few  provisions  kato 


ALONE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS        73 

a  light  pack,  new  slings  were  adjusted  to  their 
snow-shoes  and  finally  they  were  ready  to  strike 
the  trails. 

The  steel-gray  dawn  was  just  showing  whea 
Dick  shouldered  his  pack,  took  his  axe  and  gun 
and  shook  hands  with  the  boys. 

"Good-bye  Bob.  Have  a  care  o'  nasty 
weather  an*  don't  be  losin'  yourself.  I'll  see  you 
in  a  fortnight,  Bill.  Good-bye." 

With  long  strides  he  turned  down  the  river 
bend  and  in  a  few  moments  the  immeasurable 
white  wilderness  had  swallowed  him  up. 

The  Big  Hill  trail  was  so  called  from  a  high, 
barren  hill  around  whose  base  it  swung  to  follow 
a  series  of  lakes  leading  to  the  northwest.  Of 
course  as  Bob  had  never  been  over  the  trail  he 
did  not  know  its  course,  or  where  to  find  the 
traps  that  Douglas  had  left  hanging  in  the  trees 
or  lying  on  rocks  the  previous  spring  at  the  end 
of  the  hunting  season.  Bill  was  to  go  with  him 
to  the  farthest  tilt  on  this  first  journey  to  point 
these  out  to  him  and  show  him  the  way,  then 
leave  him  and  hurry  back  to  his  own  path,  while 
Bob  set  the  traps  and  worked  his  way  back  to 
the  junction  tilt. 

Shortly  after  Dick  left  them  they  started,  BiH 


74  UNGAVA  BOB 

going  ahead  and  breaking  the  trail  with  his 
snow-shoes  while  Bob  behind  hauled  the  loaded 
toboggan.  On  they  pushed  through  trees  heavily 
laden  with  snow,  out  upon  wide,  frozen  marshes, 
skirting  lakes  deep  hidden  beneath  the  ice  and 
snow  which  covered  them  like  a  great  white 
blanket  The  only  halts  were  for  a  moment  now 
and  again  to  note  the  location  of  traps  as  they 
passed,  which  Bob  with  his  keen  memory  of  the 
woods  could  easily  find  again  when  he  returned 
to  set  them.  Once  they  came  upon  some  ptarmi- 
gans, white  as  the  snow  upon  which  they  stood. 
Their  "  grub  bag  "  received  several  of  the  birds, 
which  were  very  tame  and  easily  shot.  A  hur- 
ried march  brought  them  to  the  first  tilt  at  noon, 
where  they  had  dinner,  and  that  night,  shortly 
after  dark,  they  reached  the  second  tilt,  thirty 
miles  from  their  starting  point  At  midday  on 
Thursday  they  came  to  the  end  of  the  trail. 

When  they  had  had  dinner  of  fried  ptarmigan 
and  tea,  Bill  announced :  "  I'll  be  leavin'  ye 
now,  Bob.  In  two  weeks  from  Friday  we'll  be 
meetin'  in  th'  river  tilt" 

14  All  right,  an'  I'll  be  there." 

"An*  don't  be  gettin'  lonesome,  now  I 
leaves  un." 


ALONE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS       75 

"  I'll  be  no  gettin'  lonesome.  There  be  some 
traps  t*  mend  before  I  starts  back  an'  a  chance 
bit  o*  other  work  as' 11  keep  me  busy." 

Then  Bill  turned  down  the  trail,  and  Bob  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  was  quite  alone  in  the 
heart  of  the  great  wilderness. 


VII 

A  STREAK  OF  GOOD  LUCK 

WHEN  Bill  was  gone  Bob  went  to  work 
at  once  getting  some  traps  that  were 
hanging  in  the  tilt  in  good  working 
order.  He  set  them  and  sprang  them  one 
after  another,  testing  every  one  critically. 
They  were  practically  all  new  ones,  and 
Douglas,  after  his  careful,  painstaking  manner, 
had  left  them  in  thorough  repair.  These  were 
some  additional  traps  that  no  place  had  been 
found  for  on  the  trail.  There  were  only  about 
twenty  of  them  and  Bob  decided  that  he  would 
set  them  along  the  shores  of  a  lake  beyond  the 
tilt,  where  there  were  none,  and  look  after  them 
on  the  Saturday  mornings  that  he  would  be  lying 
up  there.  The  next  morning  he  put  them  on  his 
toboggan,  and  shouldering  his  gun  he  started 
out. 

Not  far  away  he  saw  the  first  marten  track  in 

the  edge  of  the  spruce  woods  near  the  lake. 

Farther  on   there  were   more.     This  was  very 

satisfactory  indeed,  and  he  observed  to  himself 

76 


A  STREAK  OF  GOOD  LUCK         77 

•'  The's  a  wonderful  lot  o'  footin',  and  'tis  sure 
a'  fine  place  for  martens." 

He  went  to  work  at  once,  and  one  after  another 
the  traps  were  set,  some  of  them  in  a  little  circular 
enclosure  made  by  sticking-  spruce  boughs  in  the 
snow,  to  which  a  narrow  entrance  was  left,  and 
in  this  entrance  the  trap  placed  and  carefully 
concealed  under  loose  snow  and  the  chain 
fastened  to  a  near-by  sapling.  In  the  centre  of 
each  of  the  enclosures  a  bit  of  fresh  partridge 
was  placed  for  bait,  to  reach  which  the  animal 
would  have  to  pass  over  the  trap.  Where  a  tree 
of  sufficient  size  was  found  in  a  promising  place 
he  chopped  it  down,  a  few  feet  above  the  snow, 
cut  a  notch  in  the  top,  and  placed  the  trap  in  the 
notch,  and  arranged  the  bait  over  it  in  such  a 
way  that  the  animal  climbing  the  stump  would 
be  compelled  to  stand  upon  the  trap  to  secure 
the  meat 

All  the  marten  traps  were  soon  set,  but  there 
still  remained  two  fox  traps.  These  he  took  to  a 
marsh  some  distance  beyond  the  lake,  as  the 
most  likely  place  for  foxes  to  be,  for  while  the 
marten  stays  amongst  the  trees,  the  fox  prefers 
marshes  or  barrens.  Here,  in  a  place  where  the 
snow  was  hard,  he  carefully  cut  out  a  cube,  mak- 


78  UNGAVA  BOB 

ing  a  hole  deep  enough  for  the  trap  to  set  below 
the  surface.  A  square  covering  of  crust  was 
trimmed  thin  with  his  sheath  knife,  and  fitted 
over  the  trap  in  such  a  way  as  to  completely 
conceal  it  The  chain  was  fastened  to  a  stump 
and  also  carefully  concealed.  Then  over  and 
around  the  trap  pieces  of  ptarmigan  were  scat- 
tered. This  he  knew  was  not  good  fox  bait,  but 
it  was  the  best  he  had. 

"Now  if  I  were  only  havin'  a  bit  o'  scent 
'twould  help  me,"  he  commented  as  he  surveyed 
his  work- 

Foxes  prefer  meat  or  fish  that  is  tainted  and 
smells  bad,  and  the  more  decomposed  it  is,  the 
better  it  suits  them.  Bob  had  no  tainted  meat 
now,  so  he  used  what  he  had,  in  the  hope  that  it 
might  prove  effective.  A  few  drops  of  perfumery, 
or  "  scent,"  as  he  called  it,  would  have  made  the 
fresh  meat  that  he  used  more  attractive  to  the  ani- 
mals, but  unfortunately  he  had  none  of  that  either. 

As  he  left  the  marsh  and  crossed  from  a  neck 
of  woods  to  the  lake  shore  he  saw  two  moving 
objects  far  out  upon  the  ice.  He  dropped  be- 
hind a  clump  of  bushes.  They  were  caribou. 

His  gun  would  not  reach  them  at  that  distance, 
and  he  picked  up  a  dried  stick  and  broke  it 


A  STREAK  OF  GOOD  LUCK         79 

They  heard  the  noise  and  looked  towards  him. 
He  stood  up,  exposing  himself  for  the  fraction  of 
a  second,  then  concealed  himself  behind  the 
bushes  again.  Caribou  are  very  inquisitive  ani- 
mals, and  these  walked  towards  him,  for  they 
wanted  to  ascertain  what  the  strange  object  was 
that  they  had  seen.  When  they  had  come 
within  easy  range  he  selected  the  smaller  one,  a 
young  buck,  aimed  carefully  at  a  spot  behind  the 
shoulders,  and  fired.  The  animal  fell  and  its 
mate  stood  stupidly  still  and  looked  at  it,  and 
then  advanced  and  smelled  of  it.  Even  the  re- 
port of  the  gun  had  not  satisfied  its  curiosity. 

It  would  have  been  an  easy  matter  for  Bob  to 
shoot  this  second  caribou,  but  the  one  he  had 
killed  was  quite  sufficient  for  his  needs,  and  to 
kill  the  other  would  have  been  ruthless  slaughter, 
little  short  of  murder,  and  something  that  Bob, 
who  was  a  true  sportsman,  would  not  stoop  to. 
He  therefore  stepped  out  from  his  cover  and  re- 
vealed himself.  Then  when  the  animal  saw  him 
clearly,  a  living  enemy,  it  turned  and  fled. 

Bob  removed  the  skin  and  quartered  the 
carcass.  These  he  loaded  upon  his  toboggan 
and  hauled  to  his  tilt.  The  meat  was  suspended 
from  the  limb  of  a  tree  outside,  where  animals 


So  UNGAVA  BOB 

could  not  reach  it  and  where  it  would  freeze  and 
keep  sweet  until  needed.  A  small  piece  was 
taken  into  the  tilt  for  immediate  use,  and  some 
portions  of  the  neck  placed  in  the  corner  of  the 
tilt  where  they  would  decompose  somewhat  and 
thus  be  rendered  into  desirable  fox  bait  The 
skin  was  stretched  against  the  logs  of  the  side  of 
the  shack  farthest  from  the  stove,  to  dry.  This 
would  make  an  excellent  cover  for  Bob's  couch 
and  be  warm  and  comfortable  to  sleep  upon. 
The  sinew,  taken  from  the  back  of  the  animal, 
was  scraped  and  hung  from  the  roof  to  season, 
for  he  would  need  it  later  to  use  as  thread  with 
which  to  repair  moccasins. 

Now  there  was  little  to  do  for  two  or  three 
days,  and  Bob  began  for  the  first  time  to  under- 
stand the  true  loneliness  of  his  new  life.  The 
wilderness  was  working  its  mysterious  influence 
upon  him.  It  seemed  a  long,  long  while  since 
Bill  had  left  him,  and  he  recalled  his  last  Sunday 
at  Wolf  Bight  as  one  recalls  an  event  years  after 
it  has  happened.  Sometimes  he  longed  pas- 
sionately for  home  and  human  companionship. 
At  other  times  he  was  quite  content  with  his  day 
to  day  existence,  and  almost  forgot  that  the  world 
contained  any  one  else. 


A  STREAK  OF  GOOD  LUCK         81 

Early  the  next  week  he  visited  the  traps.  In 
oae  he  found  a  Canada  jay  that  had  tried 
to  filch  the  bait.  In  another  a  big  white  rabbit 
which  had  been  caught  while  nibbling  the  young 
tops  of  the  spruce  boughs  with  which  the  trap 
was  enclosed.  A  single  marten  rewarded  him. 
The  pelt  was  not  prime,  as  it  was  yet  early  in  the 
season,  but  still  it  was  fairly  good  and  Bob  was 
delighted  with  it 

The  fox  traps  had  not  been  disturbed,  but  a 
fox  had  been  feeding  upon  the  caribou  head  and 
entrails,  where  they  had  been  left  upon  the  ice, 
and  one  of  the  traps  was  taken  up  and  reset 
here.  The  others  he  also  put  in  order,  and  re- 
turned to  the  tilt  with  the  rabbit  and  marten. 
The  former,  boiled  with  small  bits  of  pork,  made 
a  splendid  stew,  and  the  skin  was  hung  to  dry, 
for,  with  others  it  could  be  fashioned  into  warm, 
light  slippers  to  wear  inside  his  moccasins  when 
the  colder  weather  came. 

The  marten  pelt  was  removed  from  the  body 
by  splitting  it  down  the  inside  of  the  hind  legs 
to  the  trunk,  and  then  pulling  it  down  over  the 
head,  turning  it  inside  out  in  the  process.  In 
the  tilt  were  a  number  of  stretching  boards,  that 
Douglas  had  provided,  tapered  down  from  several 


82  UNGAVA  BOB 

inches  wide  at  one  end  until  they  were  narrovP 
enough  at  the  other  end  to  slip  snugly  into  the 
nose  of  the  pelt.  Over  one  of  these,  with  the 
flesh  side  out,  the  skin  was  tightly  drawn  and 
fastened.  Then  with  his  knife  Bob  scraped  it 
carefully,  removing  such  fat  and  flesh  as  had 
adhered  to  it,  after  which  he  placed  it  in  a  con- 
venient place  to  dry. 

Bob  felt  very  much  elated  over  this  first  catch 
of  fur,  and  was  anxious  to  get  at  the  real  trap- 
ping. It  was  only  Tuesday,  and  Bill  would  not 
be  at  the  river  tilt  until  Friday  of  the  following 
week,  but  he  decided  to  start  back  the  next 
morning  and  set  all  his  traps.  So  on  Wednes- 
day morning,  with  a  quarter  of  venison  on  his 
flat  sled,  he  turned  down  over  the  trail. 

Everything  went  well.  Signs  of  fur  were 
good  and  Bob  was  brimming  over  with  anticipa- 
tion when  a  week  later  he  reached  the  river. 

Bill  did  not  arrive  until  after  dark  the  next 
evening,  and  when  he  pushed  the  tilt  door  open  he 
found  Bob  frying  venison  steak  and  a  kettle  of 
tea  ready  for  supper. 

"  Ho,  Bob,  back  ahead  o'  me,  be  un  ?  Where'6 
ye  get  th'  deer's  meat?" 

"Knocked  un  over  after  you  left  me      'Tis 


A  STREAK  OF  GOOD  LUCK         83 

fine  f  be  back  an'  see  you,  Bill.  I've  been  won- 
derful lonesome,  and  wantin'  t'  see  you  wonder- 
ful bad." 

"  An'  I  was  thinkin'  ye'd  be  gettin'  lonesome 
by  now.  You'll  not  be  mindin'  bein'  alone  when 
you  gets  used  to  un.  It's  all  gettin'  used  t'  un." 

"  An'  what's  th'  signs  o'  fur  ?  Be  there  much 
marten  signs  ?  " 

"  Aye,  some.  Looks  like  un  goin'  t'  be  some. 
An'  be  there  much  signs  on  th'  Big  Hill  trail? 
Dick  says  there's  a  lot  o'  footin'  his  way." 

"  I  has  one  marten,"  said  Bob  proudly,  "  an' 
finds  good  signs." 

"  Un  has  one  a'ready !  An'  be  un  a  good 
un?" 

"  Not  so  bad." 

"Well,  you  be  startin'  fine,  gettin'  th'  first 
marten  an'  th'  first  deer." 

Bill  had  taken  off  his  adikey  and  disposed  oi 
his  things,  and  they  sat  down  to  eat  and  enjoy 
a  long  evening's  chat. 

With  every  week  the  cold  grew  in  intensity, 
and  with  every  storm  the  snow  grew  deeper, 
hiding  the  smaller  trees  entirely  and  reaching  up 
towards  the  lower  limbs  of  the  larger  ones.  The 
little  tilts  were  covered  to  the  roof,  and  only  a 


84  UNGAVA  BOB 

hole  in  the  white  mass  showed  where  the  door 
was. 

The  sun  now  described  a  daily  narrowing  arc 
in  the  heavens,  and  the  hours  of  light  were  so 
few  that  the  hunters  found  it  difficult  to  cover  the 
distance  between  their  tilts  in  the  little  while 
from  dawn  to  dark.  On  moonlight  mornings 
Bob  started  long  before  day,  and  on  starlight  even- 
ings finished  his  day's  work  after  night.  His 
cheeks  and  nose  were  frost-bitten  and  black,  but 
he  did  not  mind  that  for  he  was  doing  well. 
Two  weeks  before  Christmas  he  brought  to  the 
river  tilt  the  fur  that  he  had  accumulated.  There 
were  twenty-eight  martens,  one  mink,  two  red 
foxes,  one  cross  fox,  a  lynx  and  a  wolf.  These 
last  two  animals  he  had  shot.  Bill  was  already 
in  the  tilt  when  he  arrived,  and  complimented 
him  on  his  good  showing. 

Christmas  fell  on  Wednesday  that  year,  and 
Bill  brought  word  that  Dick  and  Ed  were  com- 
ing up  to  spend  the  day  with  him  and  Bob. 
They  would  reach  the  tilt  on  Tuesday  night  and 
use  the  remainder  of  the  week  in  a  caribou  hunt, 
as  there  were  good  signs  of  the  animals  a  little 
way  back  in  the  marshes  and  they  were  in  need 
of  fresh  meat 


A  STREAK  OF  GOOD  LUCK          85 

"  An'  I'll  not  try  t'  be  gettin'  here  on  Friday," 
said  Bill.  "  Til  be  waitin'  till  Tuesday." 

"  I'll  be  doin*  th'  same,  but  I'll  be  here  sure  on 
a  Tuesday,  an'  maybe  Monday,"  answered 
Bob. 

So  it  was  arranged  that  they  should  have  a 
holiday,  and  all  be  together  again.  It  gave  Bob 
a  thrill  of  pleasure  when  he  thought  of  meeting 
Dick  and  Ed  and  proudly  exhibiting  his  fur  to 
have  them  examine  and  criticise  the  skins  and 
compliment  him.  It  would  make  a  break  in  the 
monotonous  life. 

The  day  after  Bob  left  the  river  tilt  on  his  re- 
turn round,  the  great  dream  with  which  he  had 
started  out  from  Wolf  Bight  becrjne  a  reality. 
He  caught  a  silver  fox.  It  was  almost  evening 
when  he  turned  into  a  marsh  where  the  trap  was 
set.  He  had  caught  nothing  in  it  before,  and  he 
was  thinking  seriously  of  taking  it  up  and  plac- 
ing it  farther  along  the  trail.  But  now  in  the 
half  dusk,  as  he  approached,  something  moved., 
"  Sure  'tis  a  cross,"  said  he.  When  he  came 
closer  and  saw  that  it  was  really  a  silver  he 
could  not  for  a  moment  believe  his  good  fortune. 
It  was  too  good  to  be  true.  When  he  had  killed 
it  and  taken  it  out  of  the  trap  he  hurried  to  the 


86  UNGAVA  BOB 

tilt  hugging  it  closely  to  his  breast  as  though 
afraid  it  would  get  away. 

In  the  tilt  he  lighted  a  candle  and  examined 
it  It  was  a  beauty !  It  was  worth  a  lot  of  money  I 
He  patted  it  and  turned  it  over.  Then — there 
was  no  one  to  see  him  and  question  his  man- 
hood or  jibe  at  his  weakness — he  cried — cried 
for  pure  joy.  "Tis  th'  savin'  o'  Emily  an1 
makin'  she  well — an'  makin'  she  well!"  He 
had  prayed  that  he  would  get  a  silver,  but  his 
faith  had  been  weak  and  he  had  never  really  be- 
lieved he  should.  Now  he  had  it  and  his  cup  of 
joy  was  full.  "  Sure  th'  Lard  be  good,"  he  re- 
peated to  himself. 

It  was  starlight  two  evenings  later  when  he 
neared  his  last  tilt.  Clear  and  beautiful  and 
intensely  cold  was  the  silent  white  wilderness 
and  Bob's  heart  was  as  clear  and  light  as  the 
frosty  air.  When  the  black  spot  that  marked 
the  roof  of  the  almost  hidden  shack  met  his  view 
he  stopped.  A  thin  curl  of  smoke  was  rising 
from  the  stovepipe.  Some  one  was  in  the  tilt ! 
He  hesitated  for  only  a  moment,  then  hurried 
forward  and  pushed  the  door  open.  There^ 
smoking  his  pipe  sat  Micmac  John. 


VIII 

MICMAC  JOHN'S  REVENGE 

"T--WENIN',  Bob,"  said  Micmac. 

"  Evenin',  John.    An'  where' d  you  be 
comin'  from  now  ?  " 

"Been  huntin'  t'  th'  suth'ard.  Thought  I'd 
drop  in  an'  see  ye." 

"  Glad  t'  see  ye,  John." 

After  an  awkward  pause  Bob  asked : 

"What  un  do  wi'  th'  stove,  John  ?" 

"What  stove?" 

"  From  th'  river  tilt.     Ye  took  un,  didn't  ye?" 

"  No,  I  didn't  take  no  stove.  I  weren't  in  th1 
river  tilt,  an'  don't  know  what  yer  talkin'  about," 
lied  the  half-breed. 

"Some  one  took  un  an'  we  was  layin'  it  t1 
you.  Now  I  wonders  who  'twere." 

"  Well,  /  wouldn't  take  it.  Ye  ought  t'  known 
/  wouldn't  do  a  thing  like  that,"  insisted  Micmac, 
with  an  air  of  injured  innocence.  "Maybe  th' 
Mingen  Injuns  took  it.  There's  been  some 
around  an'  they  says  they'll  take  anything  they 
find,  an'  fur  too,  if  they  find  any  in  th'  tilts 
87 


88  UNGAVA  BOB 

These  are  their  huntin'  grounds  an'  outsiders 
has  no  right  on  'em.  They  gave  me  right  t* 
hunt  down  t'  th'  suth'ard." 

"Who  may  th'  Mingen  Injuns  be,  now?" 

"Mountaineers  as  belong  Mingen  way  up 
south,  an'  hunts  between  this  an'  th'  Straits.'* 

"I  were  thinkin'  'twere  th'  Nascaupees  took 
th'  stove  if  you  didn't  take  un." 

"Th'  Nascaupees  are  back  here  a  bit  t1  th' 
west'ard.  I  saw  some  of  'em  one  day  when  I 
was  cruisin'  that  way  an'  I  made  tracks  back  fer 
I  didn't  want  t'  die  so  quick.  They'll  kill  any- 
body they  see  in  here,  an'  burn  th'  tilts  if  they 
happen  over  this  way  an'  see  'em.  Ye  have  t* 
be  on  th'  watch  fer  'em  all  th'  time." 

"  I'll  be  watchin'  out  fer  un  an'  keep  clear  if  I 
sees  their  footin',''  said  Bob  as  he  went  out  to 
bring  in  his  things. 

What  Micmac  said  about  the  Nascaupees  dis- 
turbed him  not  a  little.  Bob  was  brave,  but 
every  man,  no  matter  how  brave  he  may  be, 
fears  an  unseen  danger  when  he  believes  that 
danger  is  real  and  is  apt  to  come  upon  him  un* 
expectedly  and  at  a  time  when  no  opportunity 
will  be  offered  for  defense.  It  was  evident  that 
these  Indians  were  close  at  hand,  and  that  he  was 


MICMAC  JOHN'S  REVENGE         89 

in  daily  and  imminent  danger  of  being  captured, 
which  meant,  he  was  sure,  being  killed.  But  he 
was  here  for  a  purpose — to  catch  all  the  fur  he 
could — and  he  must  not  lose  his  courage  now, 
before  that  purpose  was  accomplished.  He  must 
remain  on  his  trail  until  the  hunting  season  closed. 
He  must  be  constantly  upon  his  guard,  he 
thought,  and  perhaps  after  all  would  not  be  dis- 
covered. No,  he  would  not  let  himself  be  afraid. 

When  he  returned  to  the  tilt  Micmac  John 
asked : 

"  Gettin'  much  fur  ?  " 

"  Not  so  bad,"  he  replied.  "  I  has  one  silver, 
an*  a  fine  un,  too." 

The  half-breed  showed  marked  interest  at 
once. 

"  Let's  see  him.     Got  him  here  ?  " 

"  No,  I  left  un  in  th'  third  tilt  That's  where  I 
caught  un." 

"  Where's  yer  other  fur  ?  " 

"  I  took  un  all  down  t'  th'  river  tilt  There's  a 
cross  among  un  an'  twenty-eight  martens." 

"Um-m." 

Micmac  John  knew  well  enough  the  fur  had 
been  taken  to  some  other  tilt,  for  when  he  ar- 
rived here  early  in  the  afternoon  his  first  care  was 


90  UNGAVA  BOB 

to  look  for  it,  but  not  a  skin  had  he  found,  and 
he  was  disappointed,  for  it  was  the  purpose  of  his 
visit  Bob,  absolutely  honest  and  guileless  him 
self,  in  spite  of  Dick's  constant  assertion  that 
Micmac  was  a  thief  and  worse,  was  easily  de- 
ceived by  the  half-breed's  bland  manner.  Un- 
fortunately he  had  not  learned  that  every  one  else 
was  not  as  honest  and  straightforward  as  himself. 
Micmac's  attempt  upon  his  life  he  had  ascribed 
to  a  sudden  burst  of  anger,  and  it  was  forgiven 
and  forgotten.  The  selfish  enmity,  the  blackness 
of  heart,  the  sinister  nature  that  will  never  over- 
look and  will  go  to  any  length  to  avenge  a  real 
or  fancied  wrong — the  characteristics  of  a  half- 
breed  Indian — were  wholly  beyond  his  compre- 
hension. He  had  never  dissembled  himself,  and 
he  did  not  know  that  the  smiling  face  and  smooth 
tongue  are  often  screens  of  deception. 

"  We'll  be  havin'  supper  now,"  suggested  Bob, 
lifting  the  boiling  kettle  off  the  stove  and  throw- 
ing in  some  tea.  "  I'm  fair  starved." 

After  they  had  eaten  Micmac  filled  his  pipe 
and  lounged  back,  smoking  in  silence  for  some 
time,  apparently  deep  in  thought.  Finally  he 
asked,  "When  ye  goin*  back  t'  th'  river,  Bob?" 

'I'm  not  thinldn  t'  start  back  till  Wednesday 


MICMAC  JOHN'S  REVENGE         91 

an'  maybe  Thursday,  an'  reach  un  Monday  or 
Tuesday  after.  Bill  won't  be  gettin'  there  till 
Tuesday,  an'  Dick  an'  Ed  expects  t'  be  there  then 
t'  spend  Christmas  an'  hunt  deer." 

"Hunt  deer?" 

"  They're  needin'  fresh  meat,  an'  deer  footin's 
good  in  th'  meshes." 

"  The's  fine  signs  to  th'  nuth'ard  from  th'  sec- 
ond lake  in,  'bout  twenty  mile  from  here.  You 
could  get  some  there.  If  ye  ain't  goin'  back  till 
Wednesday  why  don't  ye  try  'em  ?  Ye'd  get  as 
many  as  ye  wanted,"  volunteered  Micmac. 

"Where  now  be  that?" 

"  Why  just  'cross  th'  first  mesh  up  here,  an* 
through  th'  bush  straight  over  ye'll  come  to  a 
lake.  Cross  that  t'  where  a  dead  tree  hangs  out 
over  th'  ice.  Cut  in  there  an'  ye'll  see  my 
f ootin' ;  foller  it  over  t'  th'  next  lake,  then  turn  right 
t'  tSi'  nuth'ard.  The's  some  meshes  in  there 
where  th'  deer's  feedin'.  I  seen  fifteen  or  twenty, 
but  I  didn't  want  'em  so  I  let  'em  be. 

"  An'  could  I  make  un  now  in  a  day  ?  " 

"  If  ye  walk  sharp  an'  start  early." 

"I  thinks  I'll  be  startin'  in  th'  mornin'  an* 
campin'  over  there  Sunday,  an'  Monday  I'll  be 
there  t*  hunt.  Can't  un  come  'long,  John  ?  n 


92  UNGAVA  BOB 

"  No,  I'd  like  t'  go  but  I  got  t'  see  my  trapa 
I'll  have  t'  be  leavin'  ye  now,"  said  Micmac,  rising. 

"Nott'-night?" 

"  Yes,  it's  fine  moonlight  an'  I  can  make  it  all 
right." 

"  Ye  better  stay  th'  night  wi'  me,  John.  There'll 
be  no  difference  in  a  day." 

"  No.  I  planned  t'  be  goin'  right  back  I  seen 
ye.  Good  evenin'." 

"  Good  evenin',  John." 

Micmac  John  started  directly  south,  but  when 
well  out  of  sight  of  the  tilt  suddenly  swung 
around  to  the  eastward  and,  with  the  long  half- 
running  stride  of  the  Indian,  made  a  straight 
line  for  the  tilt  where  Bob  had  left  his  silver  fox. 
The  moon  was  full,  and  the  frost  that  clung  to 
the  trees  and  bushes  sparkled  like  flakes  of 
silver.  The  aurora  faintly  searched  the  northern 
sky.  A  rabbit,  white  and  spectre-like,  scurried 
across  the  half-breed's  path,  but  he  did  not 
notice  it.  Hour  after  hour  his  never  tiring  feet 
swung  the  wide  snow-shoes  in  and  out  with  a 
rhythmic  chug-chug  as  he  ran  on. 

It  was  nearly  morning  when  at  length  he 
slackened  his  pace,  and  with  the  caution  of  the  life- 
long banter  approached  the  tilt  as  he  would  have 


MICMAC  JOHN'S  REVENGE          93 

stalked  an  animal.  He  made  quite  certain  that 
the  shack  was  untenanted,  then  entered  boldly. 
He  struck  a  match  and  found  a  candle,  which  he 
lighted.  There  was  the  silver  fox,  where  Bob 
had  left  it.  It  was  dry  enough  to  remove  from 
the  board  and  he  loosened  it  and  pulled  it  off. 
He  examined  it  critically  and  gloated  over  it. 

"  As  black  an'  fine  a  one  as  I  ever  seen  1 "  he 
exclaimed.  "  It'll  bring  a  big  price  at  Mingen. 
That  boy'll  never  see  it  again,  an'  I'll  clean  out 
th'  rest  o'  th'  tur  too,  at  th'  river.  Old  Camp- 
bell'll  be  sorry  when  I  get  through  with  'em,  he 
let  that  feller  hunt  th'  path.  He's  a  fool,  an'  if 
he  gives  me  th'  slip  he'll  go  back  an'  say  th' 
Mingen  Injuns  took  his  fur.  I  fixed  that  wi*  my 
story  all  right.  I'll  take  th'  lot  t'  Mingen  an'  get 
cash  fer  'em,  an'  be  back  t'  th'  Bay  with  open 
water  with  'nuff  martens  so's  they  won't  suspect 
me." 

He  started  a  fire  and  slept  until  shortly  after 
daylight.  Then  had  breakfast  and  started  down 
the  trail  towards  the  river  at  the  same  rapid  pace 
that  he  had  held  before. 

It  was  not  quite  dark  when  he  glimpsed  the 
tilt,  and  approached  it  with  even  more  caution 
than  he  had  observed  above. 


94  UNGAVA  BOB 

"He  don't  know  enough  to  lie,"  said  he  to 
himself,  referring  to  Bob,  "  but  it's  best  t'  take 
care,  fer  one  o'  th'  others  might  be  here." 

When  he  was  satisfied  that  the  tilt  was  un- 
occupied he  entered  boldly  and  appropriated 
every  skin  of  fur  he  found — not  only  all  of  Bob's, 
but  also  a  few  martens  Bill  had  left  there.  No 
time  was  lost,  for  any  accident  might  send  Bill 
or  one  of  the  others  here  at  an  unexpected 
moment  The  pelts  were  packed  quickly  but 
carefully  into  his  hunting  bag  and  within  twenty 
minutes  after  his  arrival  he  was  retreating  up 
the  trail  at  a  half  run. 

Some  time  after  dark  he  reached  the  first  tilt 
above  the  river,  where  he  spent  the  night. 
Short  cuts  and  fast  travelling  brought  him  on 
Sunday  night  to  the  tilt  at  the  end  of  the  trail 
where  he  had  left  Bob.  He  made  quite  certain 
that  the  lad  had  really  gone  on  his  caribou  hunt, 
and  then  went  boldly  in  and  made  himself  as 
comfortable  as  he  could  for  the  night  without  a 
stove,  for  Bob  had  taken  the  stove  with  him,  to 
heat  his  tent. 

"  If  he  comes  back  t'-night  and  finds  me  here," 
he  said,  "  I'll  just  tell  him  I  changed  my  mind  an* 
came  back  t'  go  on  th'  deer  hunt.  I'll  lie  t'  him 


MICMAC  JOHN'S  REVENGE          95 

about  what  I  got  in  my  bag  an*  he'll  never  sus- 
picion ;  he  don't  know  enough." 

Micmac  John's  work  was  not  yet  finished.  He 
had  arranged  a  full  and  complete  revenge. 
Bob's  hunt  for  caribou  would  carry  him  far  away 
from  the  tilt  and  into  a  section  where  no  search- 
ing party  would  be  likely  to  go.  The  half-breed's 
plan  was  now  to  follow  and  shoot  the  lad  from 
ambush.  If  by  chance  any  one  ever  should  find 
the  body — which  seemed  a  quite  improbable 
happening — Bob's  death  would  no  doubt  be  laid 
at  the  door  of  the  Nascaupee  Indians. 

Micmac  John  deposited  the  bag  of  stolen 
pelts  in  a  safe  place  in  the  tilt,  intending  to  re- 
turn for  them  after  his  bloody  mission  was  ac- 
complished, and  several  hours  before  daylight  on 
Monday  morning  started  out  in  the  ghostly 
moonlight  to  trail  Bob  to  his  death. 


DC 

LOST  IN  THE  SNOW 

THE  trail  that  Bob  had  made  lay  open 
and  well-defined  in  the  snow,  and  hour 
after  hour  the  half-breed   followed  it, 
like  a  hound  follows  its  prey. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  sky  clouded  heavily 
and  towards  noon  snow  began  to  fall.  It  was  a 
bitterly  cold  day.  Micmac  John  increased  his 
pace  for  the  trail  would  soon  be  hidden  and  he 
was  not  quite  sure  when  he  should  find  the  camp. 
From  the  lakes  the  trail  turned  directly  north  and 
for  several  miles  ran  through  a  flat,  wooded 
country.  After  a  while  there  were  wide  open 
marshes,  with  narrow  timbered  strips  between. 
An  hour  after  noon  he  crossed  a  two  mile  stretch 
of  this  marsh  and  in  a  little  clump  of  trees  on  the 
farther  side  of  it  came  so  suddenly  upon  the  tent 
that  he  almost  ran  against  it. 

The  snow  was  by  this  time  falling  thickly  and 
a  rising  westerly  wind  was  sweeping  the  marsh 
making  travelling  exceedingly  difficult,  and  com 
pletely  hiding  the  trail  beyond  the  trees, 
06 


LOST  IN  THE  SNOW  97 

The  tent  flaps  were  fastened  on  the  outside, 
and  Bob  was  away,  as  Micmac  John  expected 
he  would  be,  searching  for  caribou. 

"There's  no  use  tryin1  t'  foller  him  in  this 
snow,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  I'd  be  sure  t'  miss 
him.  But  I'll  take  the  tent  an'  outfit  away  on 
his  flat  sled  an'  if  he  don't  have  cover  th'  cold  '11 
fix  him  before  mornin'.  There'll  be  no  livin'  in 
it  over  night  with  th'  wind  blowin'  a  gale  as  it's 
goin'  to  do  with  dark.  My  footin'  '11  soon  be  hid 
an'  he  can't  foller  me.  I  can  shoot  him  easy 
enough  if  he  does." 

It  was  the  work  of  only  a  few  minutes  to  strike 
the  tent  and  pack  it  and  the  other  things,  which 
included  the  stove,  an  axe,  blanket  and  food,  on 
the  toboggan. 

The  half-breed  was  highly  elated  when  he 
started  off  with  his  booty.  The  storm  had  come 
at  just  the  right  time.  The  elements  would  work 
a  slower  but  just  as  sure  a  revenge  as  his  gun 
and  at  the  same  time  cover  every  trace  of  his 
villainy.  He  laughed  as  he  pictured  to  himself 
Bob's  look  of  mystification  and  alarm  when  he 
returned  and  failed  to  find  the  tent,  and  how  the 
lad  would  think  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  the 
location  and  the  desperate  search  for  the  camp 


98  UNGAVA  BOB 

that  would  follow,  only  to  end  finally  in  the  snow 
and  cold  conquering  him,  as  they  were  sure  to 
do,  and  the  wolves  perhaps  scattering  his  bones. 

"  That's  a  fine  end  t'  him  an'  he'll  never  be 
takin'  trails  away  from  me  again,"  he  chuckled. 

The  whole  picture  as  he  imagined  it  was  food 
for  his  black  heart  and  he  forgot  his  own  un- 
comfortable position  in  the  delight  that  he  felt  at 
the  horrible  death  that  he  had  so  cleverly  and 
cruelly  arranged  for  Bob. 

Micmac  John  retraced  his  steps  some  eight 
miles  to  the  wide  stretch  of  timber  land.  There 
he  halted  and  pitched  camp.  The  wind  shrieked 
through  the  tree  tops  and  swept  the  marshes  in 
its  untamed  fury,  but  he  was  quite  warm  and 
contented  in  the  tent.  The  storm  was  working 
Vis  revenge  for  him,  and  he  was  quite  satisfied 
that  it  would  do  the  work  well. 

The  men  that  Bob  Gray  had  come  in  contact 
with  and  associated  with  all  his  life  were  the 
honest,  upright  people  of  the  Bay.  He  had 
never  known  a  man  that  would  dishonestly  take 
a  farthing's  worth  of  another's  property  or  that 
would  knowingly  harm  a  fellow  being.  The 
Bay  folk  were  constantly  helping  their  more 
needy  neighbours  and  lived  almost  as  intimately 


LOST  IN  THE  SNOW  99 

as  brothers.  When  any  one  was  in  trouble  the 
others  came  to  offer  sympathy  and  frequently 
deprived  themselves  of  the  actual  necessaries  of 
life  that  their  neighbours  might  not  suffer. 
Sometimes  they  had  their  misunderstandings 
and  quarrels,  but  these  were  all  of  a  momentary 
character  and  quickly  forgotten. 

There  was  little  wonder  then  that  Bob  had 
failed  to  read  Micmac  John's  true  character,  and 
it  could  hardly  be  expected  that  he  would  sus- 
pect the  half-breed  of  trying  to  injure  him. 
Children  of  these  far-off,  thinly  populated  lands 
in  many  respects  develop  judgment  and  mature 
in  thought  at  a  much  younger  age  than  in  more 
thickly  settled  and  more  favoured  countries. 
One  reason  for  this  is  the  constant  fight  for  ex- 
istence that  is  being  waged  and  the  necessity  for 
them  to  take  up  their  share  of  the  burden  of  life 
early.  Another  reason  is  doubtless  the  fact  that 
their  isolated  homes  cut  them  off  from  the  com- 
panionship of  children  of  their  own  age  and  their 
associates  are  almost  wholly  men  and  women 
grown.  This  was  the  case  with  Bob  and  in 
courage,  thoughtfulness  of  the  comfort  of  others 
and  physical  endurance  he  was  a  man,  while  in 
guile  he  was  a  mere  baby.  He  believed  that 


jroo  UNGAVA  BOB 

Micmac  John  was  like  every  other  man  he  knew 
and  was  a  good  neighbour. 

When  men  have  lived  long  in  the  wilderness 
without  fresh  meat  they  have  a  tremendous  long- 
ing for  it.  Bob  knew  that  neither  Dick  nor  Ed 
had  tasted  venison  since  they  reached  their 
hunting  grounds,  for  they  had  not  been  as  for- 
tunate as  he,  and  that  some  of  the  fresh-killed 
meat  would  be  a  great  treat  to  them  and  one 
they  would  appreciate.  Therefore  when  Micmac 
John  told  him  how  easily  caribou  could  be  killed 
a  day's  journey  to  the  northward,  he  thought 
that  it  would  make  a  nice  Christmas  surprise  for 
his  friends  if  he  hauled  a  toboggan  load  of 
venison  down  to  the  river  tilt  with  him.  True 
they  had  planned  a  hunt,  but  that  would  take 
place  after  Christmas  and  he  wanted  to  make 
them  happy  on  that  day. 

So  after  Micmac  John  left  him  on  Friday  night 
he  prepared  for  an  early  start  to  the  caribou  feed- 
ing grounds  on  Saturday  morning. 

We  have  seen  the  route  he  took  across  the 
lakes  and  timbered  flats  and  marshes  to  the  place 
where  he  pitched  his  camp  in  the  little  clump  of 
diminutive  fir  trees  almost  twenty  miles  from  his 
Hit.  It  was  evening  when  he  reached  there  and 


LOST  IN  THE  SNOW  101 

up  to  this  time,  to  his  astonishment,  he  had  seen 
no  signs  of  caribou.  A  few  miles  beyond  the 
marsh  he  saw  a  ridge  of  low  hills  running  east 
and  west  and  decided  that  the  feeding  grounds 
of  the  animals  must  lie  the  other  side  of 
them. 

He  banked  the  snow  around  the  tent  to  keep 
out  the  wind,  broke  an  abundant  supply  of  green 
boughs  for  a  bed,  and  cut  a  good  stock  of  wood 
for  the  day  of  rest.  Two  logs  were  placed  in  a 
parallel  position  in  the  tent  upon  which  to  rest 
the  stove  that  it  might  not  sink  in  the  deep  snow 
with  the  heat  Then  it  was  put  up,  and  a  fire 
started,  and  he  was  very  comfortably  settled  for 
the  night 

The  unfamiliar  and  unusually  bleak  character 
of  the  country  gave  him  a  feeling  of  restlessness 
and  dissatisfaction  when  he  arose  on  Sunday 
morning  and  viewed  his  surroundings.  It  was 
quite  different  from  anything  he  had  ever  ex- 
perienced before  and  he  had  a  strong  desire  to 
go  out  at  once  and  look  for  the  caribou,  and  if 
no  signs  of  them  were  found  to  turn  back  on 
Monday  to  the  tilt.  But  then  he  asked  himself, 
would  his  mother  approve  of  this  ?  He  decided 
that  she  would  not,  and,  said  he :  "  'Twould  be 


102  UNGAVA  BOB 

huntin*  just  as  much  as  t'  go  shootin'  and  th 
Lard  would  be  gettin'  angry  wi'  me  too." 

That  kept  him  from  going,  and  he  spent  the 
day  in  the  tent  drawing  mind  pictures  of  the 
little  cabin  home  that  he  longed  so  much  to  see 
and  the  loved  ones  that  were  there.  The  thought 
of  little  Emily,  lying  helpless  but  still  so  patient, 
brought  tears  to  his  eyes.  But  all  would  be  well 
in  the  end,  he  told  himself,  for  God  was  good 
and  had  given  him  the  silver  fox  he  had  prayed 
for  that  Emily  might  go  and  be  cured. 

What  a  proud  and  happy  day  it  would  be  for 
him  when  with  his  greatest  hopes  fulfilled,  the 
boat  ground  her  nose  again  upon  the  beach  be- 
low the  cabin  from  which  he  had  started  so  full  of 
ambition  that  long  ago  morning  in  September. 
How  his  father  would  come  down  to  shake  his 
hand  and  say :  "  My  stalwart  lad  has  done 
bravely,  an'  I'm  proud  o'  un."  His  mother,  all 
smiles,  would  run  out  to  meet  him  and  take  him 
in  her  arms  and  praise  and  pet  him,  and  then  he 
would  hurry  in  to  see  dear,  patient  little  Emily 
on  her  couch,  and  her  face  would  light  up  at 
sight  of  him  and  she  would  hold  out  her  hands 
to  him  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight  and  call :  "  Oh, 
Bob  1  Bob !  my  fine  big  brother  has  come  back 


LOST  IN  THE  SNOW  103 

to  me  at  last  1 "  Then  he  would  bring  in  his  furs 
and  proudly  exhibit  the  silver  fox  and  hear  their 
praises,  and  perhaps  he  would  have  another 
silver  fox  by  that  time.  After  a  while  Douglas 
Campbell  would  come  over  and  tell  him  how 
wonderfully  well  he  had  done.  With  his  share 
of  the  martens  he  would  pay  his  debt  to  the 
company,  and  he  and  Douglas  would  let  the 
mail  boat  doctor  sell  the  silver  fox  and  other 
skins  for  them,  and  Emily  would  go  to  the 
hospital  and  after  a  little  while  come  back  her 
old  gay  little  self  again,  to  romp  and  play  and 
laugh  and  tease  him  as  she  used  to  do.  With 
fancy  making  for  him  these  dreams  of  happiness, 
the  day  passed  after  all  much  less  tediously  than 
he  had  expected* 

On  Monday  morning,  as  soon  as  it  was  light 
enough  to  see,  Bob  started  out  to  look  for  the 
caribou,  leaving  the  tent  as  Micmac  John  found 
it.  He  made  the  great  mistake  of  not  taking 
with  him  his  axe,  for  an  axe  is  often  .a  life  saver 
in  the  northern  wilderness,  and  a  hunter  should 
never  be  without  one.  He  crossed  the  marsh 
and  then  the  ridge  of  low  hills  to  the  northward, 
finally  coming  out  upon  a  large  lakfe.  It  was 
now  midday,  the  snow  had  commenced  fall- 


104  UNGAVA  BOB 

ing,  and  to  continue  the  hunt  further  was  use- 
less. 

"  Tis  goin'  t'  be  nasty  weather  an'  I'll  have  t1 
be  gettin*  back  t'  th'  tent,"  said  he  regretfully  as 
he  realized  that  a  severe  storm  was  upon 
him. 

Reluctantly  he  retraced  his  steps.  In  a  little 
while  his  tracks  were  all  covered,  and  not  a 
landmark  that  he  had  noted  on  his  inward 
journey  was  visible  through  the  blinding  snow. 
He  reached  the  ridge  in  safety,  however,  and 
crossed  it  and  then  took  the  direction  that  he 
believed  would  carry  him  to  the  camp,  using  the 
wind,  which  had  been  blowing  from  the  west- 
ward all  day,  as  his  guide.  Towards  dark  he 
came  to  what  he  supposed  was  the  clump  of  trees 
where  he  had  left  his  tent  in  the  morning,  but  no 
tent  was  there. 

"  'Tis  wonderful  strange  !  "  he  exclaimed  as  he 
stood  for  a  moment  in  uncertainty. 

He  was  quite  positive  it  was  the  right  place, 
and  he  looked  for  axe  cuttings,  where  he  had 
chopped  down  trees  for  fire- wood,  and  found 
them.  So,  this  was  the  place,  but  where  was 
the  tent  ?  He  was  mystified.  He  searched  up 
and  down  every  corner  of  the  grove,  but  found 


LOST  IN  THE  SNOW  105 

no  clue.  Could  the  Nascaupees  have  found  his 
camp  and  carried  his  things  away  ?  There  was 
no  other  solution. 

"  'Th'  Nascaupees  has  took  un.  The  N&scau- 
pees  has  sure  took  un,"  he  said  dejectedly,  when 
he  realized  that  the  tent  was  really  gone. 

His  situation  was  now  desperate.  He  had  no 
axe  with  which  to  build  a  temporary  shelter  or 
cut  wood  for  a  fire.  The  nearest  cover  was  his 
tilt,  and  to  reach  it  in  the  blinding,  smothering 
snow-storm  seemed  hopeless.  Already  the  cold 
was  eating  to  his  bones  and  he  knew  he  must 
keep  moving  or  freeze  to  death. 

With  the  wind  on  his  right  he  turned  towards 
the  south  in  the  gathering  darkness.  He  could 
not  see  two  yards  ahead.  Blindly  he  plodded 
along  hour  after  hour.  As  the  time  dragged  on 
it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  walking  for 
ages.  His  motion  became  mechanical.  He  was 
faint  from  hunger  and  his  mouth  parched  with 
thirst.  The  bitter  wind  was  reaching  to  his  very 
vitals  in  spite  of  the  exertion,  and  at  last  he  did 
not  feel  it  much.  He  stumbled  and  fell  now  and 
again  and  each  time  it  was  more  difficult  to 
rise. 

There  was  always  a  strong  inclination  to  lie  a 


io6  UNGAVA  BOB 

little  where  he  fell  and  rest,  but  his  benumbed 
brain  told  him  that  to  stop  walking  meant  death, 
and  urged  him  up  again  to  further  action. 

Finally  the  snow  ceased  but  he  did  not  notice  it. 
With  his  head  held  back  and  staring  straight  be- 
fore him  at  nothing  he  stalked  on  throwing  his 
feet  ahead  like  an  automaton.  The  stars  came 
out  one  after  another  and  looked  down  pitilessly 
upon  the  tragedy  that  was  being  enacted  before 
their  very  eyes. 

Many  hours  had  passed  ;  morning  was  close  at 
hand.  The  cold  grew  more  intensely  bitter  but 
Bob  did  not  know  it.  He  was  quite  insensible 
to  sensations  now.  Vaguely  he  imagined  him- 
self going  home  to  Wolf  Bight.  It  was  not  far — 
he  was  almost  there.  In  a  little  while  he  would 
see  his  father  and  mother  and  Emily — Emily — 
Emily  was  sick.  He  had  something  to  make  her 
her  well — make  her  well — a  silver  fox — that  would 
do  it — yes,  that  would  do  it — a  silver  fox  would 
make  her  well — dear  little  Emily. 

From  the  distance  there  came  over  the  frozen 
world  a  wolfs  howl,  followed  by  another  and 
another.  The  wolves  were  giving  the  cry  of 
pursuit.  There  must  be  many  of  them  and  they 
were  after  caribou  or  game  of  some  sort.  This 


LOST  IN  THE  SNOW  107 

was  the  only  impression  the  sound  made  upon  his 
numbed  senses. 

Daylight  was  coming.  He  was  very  sleepy — 
very,  very  sleepy.  Why  not  go  to  sleep  ?  There 
was  no  reason  for  walking  when'  it  was  so  nice 
and  warm  here — and  he  was  so  weary  and 
sleepy.  There  were  trees  all  around  and  a  nice 
white  bed  spread  under  them.  He  stumbled  and 
fell  and  did  not  try  to  get  up.  Why  should  he  ? 
There  was  plenty  of  time  to  go  home.  It  was  so 
comfortable  and  soft  here  and  he  was  so  sleepy. 

Then  he  imagined  that  he  was  in  the  warm  tilt 
with  the  fire  crackling  in  the  stove.  He  cuddled 
down  in  the  snow,  and  said  the  little  prayer  that 
he  never  forgot  at  night 

"  Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep, 
I-pray-thee-Lard-my-soul-to-keep, 
If-I-should-die-before-I-wake 
I-pray-thee-Lard-my-soul-totake. 
An'-God-make-Emily-well. " 

The  wolves  were  clamouring  in  the  distance. 
They  had  caught  the  game  that  they  were  chasing. 
He  could  just  hear  them  as  he  fell  asleep. 

The  sun  broke  with  the  glory  of  a  new  world 
over  the  white  wilderness.  The  wolf  howb 
ceased — and  all  was  still 


X 

THE   PENALTY 

FOR  some  reason  Micmac  John  could  not 
sleep.  A  little  while  he  lay  awake  volun- 
tarily, trying  to  contrive  a  plan  to  follow 
should  he  be  found  out.  If,  after  he  returned  to 
the  tilt  for  the  pelts,  there  should  not  be  sufficient 
snow  to  cover  his  trail,  for  instance,  before  the 
searching  party  came  to  look  for  Bob — and  it 
surely  would  come,  headed  by  Dick  Blake — he 
would  be  in  grave  danger  of  being  discovered. 
Why  had  he  not  thought  of  all  this  before  ?  He 
was  afraid  of  Dick  Blake,  and  Dick  was  the  one 
man  in  the  world,  perhaps,  that  he  was  afraid  of. 
Would  Dick  shoot  him  ?  he  asked  himself.  Prob- 
ably. If  he  were  found  he  would  have  to  die. 

Life  is  sweet  to  a  strong,  healthy  man  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  reality  of  death.  In  his 
more  than  half  savage  existence  Micmac  John 
had  faced  death  frequently,  and  sometimes  daily, 
and  had  never  shrunk  from  it  or  felt  a  tremour  of 
fear.  He  had  held  neither  his  own  nor  the  life  of 
other  men  as  a  thing  of  much  value.  The  fact 


THE  PENALTY  109 

was  that  never  before  had  he  given  one  serious 
thought  to  what  it  meant  to  die.  Like  the  foxes 
and  the  wolves,  he  had  been  an  animal  of  prey 
and  had  looked  upon  life  and  death  with  hardly 
more  consideration  than  they,  and  with  the  sto- 
ical indifference  of  his  savage  Indian  an- 
cestors. 

But  for  some  inexplicable  reason  this  night  the 
white  half  of  his  nature  had  been  awakened  and 
he  found  himself  thinking  of  what  it  meant  to 
die — to  cease  to  be,  with  the  world  going  on  and 
on  afterwards  just  as  though  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. Then  the  teachings  of  a  missionary  whom 
he  had  heard  preach  in  Nova  Scotia  came  to  him. 
He  remembered  what  had  been  said  of  eternal 
happiness  or  eternal  torment — that  one  or  the 
other  state  awaited  the  soul  of  every  one  after 
death.  Then  a  great  terror  took  possession  of 
him.  If  Bob  Gray  died,  as  he  certainly  must  in 
this  storm,  he  would  be  responsible  for  it,  and  his 
soul  would  be  consigned  to  eternal  torment — the 
terrible  torment  to  last  forever  and  forever,  de- 
picted by  the  missionary.  He  had  committed 
many  sins  in  his  life,  but  they  were  of  the  past 
and  forgotten.  This  was  of  the  present.  He 
could  already,  in  his  frenzied  imagination  see 


no  UNGAVA  BOB 

Dick  Blake,  the  avenger.  Dick  would  shoot  him. 
That  was  certain — and  then — eternal  torment. 

The  wind  moaned  outside,  and  then  rose  to  a 
shriek.  He  sprang  up  and  looked  wildly  about 
him.  It  was  the  shriek  of  a  damned  soul !  No, 
he  had  been  dozing  and  it  was  only  a  dream, 
and  he  lay  back  trembling. 

For  a  long  while  he  could  not  go  to  sleep 
again.  Fear  had  taken  absolute  and  complete 
possession  of  him — the  fear  of  the  eternal  damna- 
tion that  the  missionary  had  so  vividly  pictured. 
It  was  a  picture  that  had  been  received  at  the 
time  without  being  seen  and  through  all  these 
years  had  remained  in  his  brain,  covered  and 
hidden.  This  day's  work  had  suddenly  and  for 
the  first  time  drawn  aside  the  screen  and  left  it 
bare  before  his  eyes  displaying  to  him  every  fear- 
ful minute  outline.  He  was  a  murderer  and  he 
would  be  punished.  There  was  no  thought  of 
repentance  for  sins  committed — only  fear  of  a 
fate  that  he  shrunk  from  but  which  confronted 
him  as  a  reality  and  a  certainty — as  great  a  cer- 
tainty as  his  rising  in  the  morning  and  so  near 
at  hand.  He  got  up  and  looked  out.  The  wind 
blew  clouds  of  snow  into  his  face.  He  could  not 
see  the  tree  that  he  knew  was  ten  feet  away.  U 


THE  PENALTY  rii 

was  an  awful  night  for  a  man  to  be  out  without 
shelter. 

Micmac  John  lay  down  again  and  after  a  time 
the  tired  brain  and  body  yielded  to  nature  and 
he  slept. 

The  instincts  of  the  half-breed,  keen  even  in 
slumber,  felt  rather  than  heard  the  diminishing 
of  wind  and  snow  as  the  storm  subsided  with  the 
approach  of  morning,  and  he  arose  at  once. 
The  rest  had  quieted  his  nerves,  and  he  was  the 
stolid,  revengeful  Indian  again.  After  a  meagre 
breakfast  of  tea  and  jerked  venison  he  took  down 
the  tent  and  lashed  the  things  securely  upon  the 
toboggan  and  ere  the  first  stars  began  to  glim- 
mer through  the  cloud  rifts  he  was  hurrying  away 
in  the  stillness  of  the  night 

When  the  sky  finally  cleared  and  the  moon 
came  out,  cold  and  brilliant,  there  was  some- 
thing uncanny  and  weird  in  its  light  lying  upon 
earth's  white  shroud  rent  here  and  there  by  long, 
dark  shadows  across  the  trail.  There  was  an  in- 
definable mystery  in  the  atmosphere.  Micmac 
Tohn,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  the  wilderness, 
felt  an  uneasiness  in  his  soul,  the  reflex  perhaps 
of  the  previous  night's  awakening,  that  he  could 
not  quite  throw  off — a  sense  of  impending 


112  UNGAVA  BOB 

danger— of  a  calamity  about  to  happen.  The 
trees  became  mighty  men  ready  to  strike  at  him 
as  he  approached  and  behind  every  bush 
crouched  a  waiting  enemy.  His  guilty  con- 
science was  at  work.  The  little  spirit  that  God 
had  placed  within  his  bosom,  to  tell  him  when  he 
was  doing  wrong,  was  not  quite  dead. 

He  increased  his  speed  as  daylight  approached 
travelling  almost  at  a  run.  Suddenly  he  stopped 
to  listen.  From  somewhere  in  the  distance  be- 
hind him  a  wolf  cry  broke  the  morning  silence. 
In  a  little  while  there  were  more  wolf  cries,  and 
they  were  coming  nearer  and  nearer.  The  ani- 
mals were  doubtless  following  some  quarry. 
Was  it  Bob  they  were  after?  A  momentary 
qualm  at  the  thought  was  quickly  replaced  by  a 
feeling  of  satisfaction.  That,  he  tried  to  argue 
with  himself,  would  cover  every  clue  to  what  had 
happened  and  was  what  he  had  hoped  for.  He 
hurried  on. 

All  at  once  a  spasm  of  fear  brought  him  to  a 
halt.  Could  it  be  himself  the  wolves  were  trailing  1 
The  old  horror  of  the  night  came  back  with 
all  its  reality  and  force.  A  clammy  sweat  broke 
out  upon  his  body.  He  looked  wildly  about  him 
for  a  retreat,  but  there  was  none.  The  wolves 


THE  PENALTY  113 

were  gaining  upon  him  rapidly  and  were  very 
close  now.  There  was  no  longer  any  doubt  that 
he  fl-as  their  quarry.  They  were  trailing  him, 
Micmac  John  was  in  a  narrow,  open  marsh,  and 
the  wolves  were  already  at  the  edge  of  the  woods 
that  skirted  it  a  hundred  yards  behind.  A  little 
distance  ahead  of  him  was  a  big  boulder,  and  he 
ran  for  it  At  that  moment  the  pack  came  into 
view.  He  stopped  and  stood  paralyzed  until 
they  were  within  thirty  yards  of  him,  then  he 
turned  mechanically,  from  /force  of  habit,  and 
fired  at  the  leader,  which  fell.  This  held  them 
in  check  for  an  instant  and  roused  him  to  action. 
He  grabbed  an  axe  from  the  toboggan  and  had 
time  to  gain  the  rock  and  take  a  stand  with  his 
back  against  it. 

As  the  animals  rushed  upon  the  half  breed 
he  swung  the  axe  and  split  the  head  of  one. 
This  temporarily  repulsed  them.  He  held  them 
at  bay  for  a  time,  swinging  his  axe  at  every  at- 
tempted approach.  They  formed  themselves 
into  a  half  circle  just  beyond  his  reach,  snapping 
and  snarling  at  him  and  showing  their  ugly 
fangs.  Another  big  gray  creature,  bolder  than 
the  rest,  made  a  rush,  but  the  swinging  axe  split 
its  head,  just  as  it  had  the  others.  They  ie> 


114  UNGAVA  BOB 

treated  a  few  paces,  but  they  were  not  to  be 
kept  back  for  long.  Micmac  John  knew  that  his 
end  had  come.  His  face  was  drawn  and  terrified, 
and  in  spite  of  the  fearful  cold  and  biting  frost, 
perspiration  stood  out  upon  his  forehead. 

It  was  broad  daylight  now.  Another  wolf  at- 
tacked from  the  front  and  fell  under  the  axe.  A 
little  longer  they  parleyed.  They  were  gradually 
growing  more  bold  and  narrowing  the  circle- 
coming  so  close  that  they  were  almost  within  reach 
of  the  swinging  weapon.  Finally  a  wolf  on  the 
right,  and  one  on  the  left,  charged  at  the  same 
time,  and  in  an  instant  those  in  front,  as  though 
acting  upon  a  prearranged  signal,  closed  in,  and 
the  pack  became  one  snarling,  fighting,  clamour* 
ing  mass. 

When  the  sun  broke  over  the  eastern  horizon 
a  little  later  it  looked  upon  a  circle  of  flat-tramped, 
blood-stained  snow,  over  which  were  scattered 
bare  picked  human  bones  and  pieces  of  torn 
clothing.  A  pack  of  wolves  trotted  leisurely 
away  over  the  marsh. 

In  the  woods  not  a  mile  distant  two  Indian 
hunters  were  following  the  trail  that  led  to  Bob's 
unconscious  body. 


"Micmac  John  knew  his  end  had  come" 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  TRAIL 

A  WEEK  passed  and  Christmas  eve  came. 
The  weather  continued  clear  and  sur- 
passingly fine.  It  was  ideal  weather  for 
trapping,  with  no  new  snow  to  clog  the  traps 
and  interfere  with  the  hunters  in  their  work. 
The  atmosphere  was  transparent  and  crisp,  and 
as  it  entered  the  lungs  stimulated  the  body  like 
a  tonic,  giving  new  life  and  buoyancy  and  action 
to  the  limbs.  The  sun  never  ventured  far  from 
the  horizon  now  and  the  cold  grew  steadily  more 
intense  and  penetrating  The  river  had  long 
ago  been  chained  by  the  mighty  Frost  King  and 
over  the  earth  the  snow  lay  fully  six  feet  deep 
where  the  wind  had  not  drifted  it  away. 

A  full  hour  before  sunset  Dick  and  Ed,  in  high 
good  humour  at  the  prospect  of  the  holiday  they 
had  planned,  arrived  at  the  river  tilt.  They 
came  together  expecting  to  find  Bob  and  Bill 
awaiting  them  there,  but  the  shack  was  empty. 

"  We'll  be  havin'  th'  tilt  snug  an'  warm  for  th' 
lads  when  they  comes,"  said  Dick,  as  he  went 
"5 


n6  UNGAVA  BOB 

briskly  to  work  to  build  a  fire  in  the  £tove 
"You  get  some  ice  t'  melt  for  th'  tea,  Ed.  Th' 
lads'll  be  handy  t'  gettin'  in  now,  an'  when  they 
comes  supper*!!  be  pipin'  hot  for  un." 

Ed  took  an  axe  and  a  pail  to  the  river  where 
he  chopped  out  pieces  of  fine,  clear  ice  with 
which  to  fill  the  kettle.  When  he  came  back 
Dick  had  a  roaring  fire  and  was  busy  preparing 
partridges  to  boil. 

Pretty  soon  Bill  arrived,  and  they  gave  him 
an  uproarious  greeting.  It  was  the  first  time 
Bill  and  Ed  had  met  since  they  came  to  their 
trails  in  the  fall,  and  the  two  friends  were  as  glad 
to  see  each  other  as  though  they  had  been  sepa- 
rated for  years. 

"  An'  how  be  un  now,  Bill,  an*  how's  th'  fur?" 
asked  Ed  when  they  were  seated. 

"Fine,"  replied  Bill.  "Fur's  been  fine  th* 
year.  I  has  more  by  now  'an  I  gets  all  of  last 
season,  an'  one  silver  too." 

"  A  silver  ?    An'  be  he  a  good  un  ?  " 

"Not  so  bad.  He's  a  little  gray  on  th'  rump, 
but  not  enough  t'  hurt  un  much." 

"  Well,  now,  you  be  doin*  fine.  I  finds  un  not 
so  bad,  too — about  th'  best  year  I  ever  has,  but 
That  were  twelve  year  ago,  an*  I  gets  a 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  TRAIL     117 

rare  lot  o'  fur  that  year — a  rare  lot — but  I'm  not 
catchin'  all  of  un  myself.  I  gets  most  of  un  from 
th1  Injuns." 

*'  An'  how  were  un  doin'  that  now  ?  "  asked  Bill. 

"  Now  don't  be  tellin'  that  yarn  agin,"  broke 
in  Dick.  "Sure  Bill's  heard  un — leastways  he 
must  'a'  heard  un." 

«*  No,  I  never  heard  un,"  said  Bill. 

•'  An'  ain't  been  missuV  much  then.  *Tis  just 
one  o'  Ed's  yarns,  an'  no  truth  in  un." 

"  'Tis  no  yarn.  'Tis  true,  an'  I  could  prove  un 
by  th*  Injuns.  Leastways  I  could  if  I  knew  where 
un  were,  but  none  o*  that  crowd  o'  Injuns  comes 
this  way  these  days." 

"  What  were  the  yarn,  now?"  asked  Bill. 

"  I  says  'tis  no  yarn.  'Tis  what  happened  t' 
me,"  asserted  Ed,  assuming  a  much  injured  air. 
"  As  I  were  sayin',  'twere  a  frosty  evenin'  twelve 
year  ago.  I  were  comin'  t'  my  lower  tilt,  an* 
when  I  gets  handy  t'  un  what  does  I  see  but  a 
big  band  o'  mountaineers  around  th'  tilt.  Th' 
mountaineers  was  not  always  friendly  in  those 
times  as  they  be  now,  an'  I  makes  up  my  mind 
for  trouble.  I  comes  up  t'  un  an'  speaks  t1  un 
pleasant,  an*  goes  right  in  th'  tilt  t'  see  if  un  be 
takin'  things.  I  finds  a  whole  barrel  o'  flour 


US  UNGAVA  BOB 

missin'  an*  comes  out  at  un.  They  owns  up  f 
eatin'  th'  flour,  an'  they  had  eat  th'  hull  barrel 
?  one  meal — now  ye  mind,  one  meal.  When  un 
eats  a  barrel  o'  flour  t'  one  meal  there  be  a  big 
band  o'  un.  They  was  so  many  o'  un  I  never 
counted.  They  was  like  t'  be  ugly  at  first,  but  I 
looks  fierce  like,  an'  tells  un  they  must  gi'  me  fur 
t'  pay  for  un.  I  was  so  fierce  like  I  scares  un 
—scares  un  bad.  I  were  one  man  alone,  an'  wi* 
a  bold  face  I  had  th'  whole  band  so  scared  they 
each  gives  me  a  marten,  an'  I  has  a  flat  sled 
load  o'  martens  from  un — handy  t'  a  hundred 
an'  fifty — an'  if  I  hadn't  'a*  been  bold  an'  scared 
un  I'd  'a'  had  none.  Injuns  be  easy  scared  if  un 
knows  how  t'  go  about  it." 

Bill  laughed  and  remarked, 

"'Tis  sure  a  fine  yarn,  Ed.  How  does  un 
look  t'  be  fierce  an'  scare  folk?" 

•'  A  fine  yarn  1  An*  I  tells  un  'tis  a  gospel 
truth,  an*  no  yarn,"  asserted  Ed,  apparently  very 
indignant  at  the  insinuation. 

"Bob's  late  comin',"  remarked  Dick.  "Tis 
gettin'  dark." 

"  He  be,  now/*  said  Bill,  "  an'  he  were  sayin* 
he'd  be  gettin'  here  th'  night  an'  maybe  o'  Mon« 
day  night.  'Tis  strange/' 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  TRAIL     119 

They  ate  supper  and  the  evening  wore  on, 
and  no  Boiy.  Bill  went  out  several  times  to 
listen  for  the  click  of  snow-shoes,  but  always 
came  back  to  say,  "  No  sign  o'  un  yet."  Finally 
it  became  quite  certain  that  Bob  was  not  coming 
that  night. 

"  'Tis  wonderful  queer  now,  an'  he  promised," 
Bill  remarked,  at  length.  "An*  he  brought 
down  his  fur  last  trip — a  fine  lot" 

"  Where  be  un  ?  "  asked  Dick. 

Bill  looked  for  the  fur.  It  was  nowhere  to  be 
found,  and,  mystified  and  astounded,  he  ex- 
claimed: "Sure  th'  fur  be  gone  1  Bob's  an' 
mine  too  1 " 

"  Gone ! "  Dick  and  Ed  both  spoke  together. 
4  An'  where  now  ?  " 

"Gonel  His  an'  mine!  Twere  here  when 
we  leaves  th'  tilt,  an1  'tis  gone  now  ! " 

The  three  had  risen  to  their  feet  and  stood 
looking  at  each  other  for  awhile  in  silence. 
Finally  Dick  spoke : 

"  'Tis  what  I  was  fearin'.  'Tis  some  o'  Micmac 
John's  work.  Now  where  be  Bob  ?  Somethin's 
been  happenin'  t'  th'  lad.  Micmac  John's  been 
doin*  somethin'  wi'  un,  an'  we  must  find  un." 

"We  must  find  un  an'  run  that  devil  Injun 


120  UNGAVA  BOB 

down,"  exclaimed  Ed,  reaching  for  his  adlkey 
We  mustn't  be  losin'  time  about  un,  neither." 

"  'Twill  be  no  use  goin'  now,"  said  Dick,  with 
better  judgment.  "  Th'  moon's  down  an'  we'd 
be  raissin'  th'  trail  in  th'  dark,  but  wi'  daylight 
we  must  be  goin'." 

Ed  hung  his  adikey  up  again.  "  I  were  for- 
gettin'  th'  moon  were  down.  We'll  have  t'  bide 
here  for  daylight,"  he  assented.  Then  he  gritted 
his  teeth.  "  That  Injun'll  have  t'  suffer  for  un  if 
he's  done  foul  wi'  Bob." 

The  remainder  of  the  evening  was  spent  in 
putting  forth  conjectures  as  to  what  had  possibly 
befallen  Bob.  They  were  much  concerned  but 
tried  to  reassure  themselves  with  the  thought 
that  he  might  have  been  delayed  one  tilt  back 
for  the  night,  and  that  Micmac  John  had  done 
nothing  worse  than  steal  the  fur.  Nevertheless 
their  evening  was  spoiled — the  evening  they 
had  looked  forward  to  with  so  much  pleasure 
and  their  minds  were  filled  with  anxious 
thoughts  when  finally  they  rolled  into  their 
blankets  for  the  night. 

Christmas  morning  came  with  a  dead,  search- 
ing cold  that  made  the  three  men  shiver  as  they 
stepped  out  of  the  warm  tilt  long  before  dawo 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  TRAIL     121 

and  strode  off  in  single  file  into  the  silent,  dark 
forest.  After  a  while  daylight  came,  and  then 
the  sun,  beautiful  but  cheerless,  appeared  above 
the  eastern  hills  to  reveal  the  white  splendour  of 
the  world  and  make  the  frost-hung  fir  trees  and 
bushes  scintillate  and  sparkle  like  a  gem-hung 
fairy-land.  But  the  three  men  saw  none  of  this. 
Before  them  lay  a  black,  unknown  horror  that 
they  dreaded,  yet  hurried  on  to  meet.  The  air 
breathed  a  mystery  that  they  could  not  fathom, 
Then:  hearts  were  weighted  with  a  nameless 
dread. 

Their  pace  never  once  slackened  and  not  a 
word  was  spoken  until  after  several  hours  the 
first  tilt  came  suddenly  into  view,  when  Dick 
said  laconically : 

"  No  smoke.     He's  not  here." 

"  An'  no  signs  o'  his  bein'  on  th'  trail  since  th' 
storm,"  added  Ed. 

"  No  footin*  t'  mark  un  at  all,"  assented  Dick. 
"  What's  happened  has  happened  before  th'  last 
snow." 

"  Aye,  before  th'  last  snow,  Twas  before  th' 
storm  it  happened." 

Here  they  took  a  brief  half  hour  to  rest  and 
boil  the  kettle,  and  the  remainder  of  that  day 


122  UNGAVA  BOB 

and  all  the  next  day  kept  up  their  tireless,  silent 
march.  Not  a  track  in  the  unbroken  white  was 
there  to  give  them  a  ray  of  hope,  and  every  step 
they  took  made  more  certain  the  tragedy  they 
dreaded. 

At  noon  on  the  third  day  they  reached  the  last 
tilt  Bill  was  ahead,  and  when  he  pushed  the 
door  open  he  exclaimed :  '•*  Th'  stove's  gone  1 " 
Then  they  found  the  bag  that  Micmac  John  had 
left  there  with  the  fur  in  it. 

"Now  that's  Micmac  John's  bag,"  said  Ed. 
"What  devilment  has  th'  Injun  been  doin'? 
Now  why  did  he  leave  th'  fur  ?  'Tis  strange- 
wonderful  strange." 

Dick  noted  the  evidences  of  an  open  fire  hav- 
ing been  kindled  upon  the  earthen  floor.  "  That 
fire  were  made  since  th'  stove  were  taken,"  he 
said.  "  Micmac  John  left  th'  fur  an'  made  th'  fire 
He's  been  stoppin'  here  a  night  after  Bob  left  wi' 
th'  stove.  But  why  were  Bob  leavin'  wi'  th* 
stove  ?  An'  where  has  he  gone  ?  An'  why  has 
th'  Injun  been  leavin'  th'  fur  here  an'  not  comin* 
for  un  again  ?  We'll  have  t'  be  findin'  out" 

They  started  immediately  to  search  for  some 
clue  of  the  missing  lad,  each  taking  a  different 
direction  and  agreeing  to  meet  at  night  in  the 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  TRAIL     12* 

tilt.  Everywhere  they  looked,  but  nothing  was 
discovered,  and,  weary  and  disheartened,  they 
turned  back  with  dusk.  Dick  returned  across 
the  first  lake  above  the  tilt.  As  he  strode  along 
one  of  his  snow-shoes  pressed  upon  something 
hard,  and  he  stopped  to  kick  the  snow  away  from 
it.  It  was  a  deer's  antler.  He  uncovered  it  far- 
ther and  found  a  chain,  which  he  pulled  up,  dis- 
closing a  trap  and  in  it  a  silver  fox,  dead  and 
frozen  stiff.  He  straightened  up  and  looked 
at  it 

"A  Christmas  present  for  Bob  an'  he  never 
got  un,"  he  said  aloud.  "  Th'  lad's  sure  perished 
not  t'  be  findin'  his  silver." 

Here  was  a  discovery  that  meant  something. 
Bob  had  been  setting  traps  in  that  direction,  and 
might  have  a  string  of  traps  farther  on.  Poosib]" 
he  had  gone  to  put  them  in  order  when  the 
storm  came,  and  had  been  caught  in  it  farther 
up,  and  perished.  Anyway  it  was  worth  investi- 
gation. When  Dick  returned  with  the  fox  and 
the  trap  to  the  tilt  he  told  the  others  of  his  theory 
and  it  was  decided  to  concentrate  their  efforts  in 
that  direction  in  the  morning. 

Accordingly  the  next  day  they  pushed  farther 
to  the  westward  across  the  second  lake,  and  at  a 


124  UNGAVA  BOB 

point  where  a  dead  tree  hung  out  over  the  ice 
found  fresh  axe  cuttings.  A  little  farther  on  they 
saw  one  or  two  sapling  tops  chopped  off.  These 
were  in  a  line  to  the  northward,  and  they  took 
that  direction.  Finally  they  came  upon  a  marsh, 
and  heading  in  the  same  northerly  course  across 
it,  came  upon  the  tracks  of  a  pack  of  wolves. 
Looking  in  the  direction  from  which  these  led, 
Dick  stopped  and  pointed  towards  a  high  boulder 
half  a  mile  to  the  eastward. 

"  Now  what  be  that  black  on  th'  snow  handy 
f  th'  rock?"  he  asked. 

"  Tis  lookin'  t'  me  like  a  flat  sled,"  said  Ed 

"We'll  have  a  look  at  un,"  suggested  Dick, 
who  hurried  forward  with  the  others  at  his  heels. 
Suddenly  he  stopped,  and  pointed  at  the  beaten 
snow  ac4  scattered  bones  and  torn  clothing, 
where  Mk*iac  John  had  fought  so  desperately 
for  his  life,  The  three  men  stood  horror  stricken, 
their  faces  drawn  and  tense.  This,  then,  was  the 
solution  of  the  mystery!  This  was  what  had 
happened  to  Bob !  Pretty  soon  Dick  spoke : 

"  Th'  poor  lad  1  Th'  poor  lad  1  An'  th'  wolves 
got  tin!" 

"An*  his  poor  mother,"  said  Ed,  choking. 
*  Twill  break  her  heart,  she  were  countin*  so  on 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  TRAIL     125 

Bob.  An1  th'  little  matf  as  is  sick- -'twill  kill 
she." 

"Yes,"  said  Bill,  "Emily  '11  be  mournin'  her- 
self  t'  death  wi'out  Bob." 

These  big,  soft-hearted  trappers  were  all  crying 
now  like  women.  No  other  thought  occurred  to 
them  than  that  these  ghastly  remains  were  Bob's, 
for  the  toboggan  and  things  on  it  were  his. 

After  a  while  they  tenderly  gathered  up  the 
human  remains  and  placed  them  upon  the  tobog- 
gan. Then  they  picked  up  the  gun  and  blood 
spattered  axe. 

"Now  here  be  another  axe  on  th'  flat  sled," 
said  Dick.  "What  were  Bob  havin'  two  axes 
for?" 

?"Tis  strange,"  said  Ed. 

"He  must  ha'  had  one  cached  in  here,  an* 
were  bringin'  un  back,"  suggested  Bill,  and  this 
seemed  a  satisfactory  explanation. 

"I'll  take  some  pieces  o'  th'  clothes.  His 
mother  '11  be  wantin'  somethin'  that  he  wore  when 
it  happened,"  said  Dick,  as  he  gathered  some  of 
the  larger  fragments  of  cloth  from  the  snow. 

Then  with  bowed  heads  and  heavy  hearts  they 
silently  retraced  their  steps  to  the  tilt,  hauling  the 
toboggan  after  them. 


126  UNGAVA  BOB 

At  the  tilt  they  halted  to  arrange  their  future 
course  of  action. 

"  Now,"  said  Dick, "  what's  t'  be  done  ?  'Twill 
only  give  pain  th'  sooner  t'  th'  family  t'  go  out 
an'  tell  un,  an'  'twill  do  no  good.  I'm  thinkin*  'tis 
best  t'  take  th'  remains  t'  th'  river  tilt  an'  not  go 
out  with  un  till  we  goes  home  wi'  open  water." 

"  No,  I'm  not  thinkin'  that  way,"  dissented  Ed. 
"Bob's  mother '11  be  wantin'  t'  know  right  off. 
*Tis  not.  right  t'  keep  it  from  she,  an'  she'll  never 
be  forgivin'  us  if  we're  doin'  it." 

"  They's  trouble  enough  down  there  that  they 
knows  of,"  argued  Dick.  "  They'll  be  thinkin' 
Bob  safe  'an  not  expectin'  he  till  th'  open  water 
an'  we  don't  tell  un,  an'  between  now  an'  then 
have  so  much  less  t'  worry  un,  and  be  so  much 
happier  'an  if  they  were  knowin'.  Folks  lives 
only  so  long  anyways  an'  troubles  they  has  an* 
don't  know  about  is  troubles  they  don't  have,  or 
th'  same  as  not  havin'  un,  an*  their  lives  is  that 
much  happier." 

"  I'm  still  thinkin'  they'll  be  wantin'  t'  know, ' 
insisted  Ed.  "They'll  be  plannin'  th'  whole 
winter  for  Bob's  comin'  an'  when  they's  expectin' 
him  an'  hears  he's  dead,  'twill  be  worse'n  hearin' 
before  they  expects  un.  Leastways,  they'll  be 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  TRAIL     127 

gettin'  over  un  th'  sooner  they  hears,  for  trouble 
always  wears  off  some  wi'  passin'  time.  'Tis  our 
duty  t'  go  an'  tell  un  now,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"  What's  un  think,  Bill?"  asked  Dick. 

'  I'm  thinkin  with  Ed,  'tis  best  t'  go,"  said 
Bill,  positively. 

"  Well,  maybe  'tis— maybe  'tis,"  Dick  finally 
assented.  "  Now,  who'll  be  goin'  ?  'Twill  be  a 
wonderful  hard  task  t'  break  th1  news.  I'm 
thinkin'  my  heart  'd  be  failin*  me  when  I  gets 
there.  Ed,  would  un  mind  goin'  ?  " 

Ed  hesitated  a  moment,  then  he  said  : 

"  1  m  fearin'  t'  tell  th'  mother,  but  'tis  for  some 
one  t'  do.  'Tis  my  duty  t'  do  un — an'  I'll  be 
goin'." 

It  was  finally  arranged  that  Ed  should  begin 
his  journey  the  following  morning,  drawing  the 
remains  on  a  toboggan,  and  taking  otherwise 
only  the  tent,  a  tent  stove,  and  enough  food  to 
see  him  through,  leaving  the  remainder  of  Bob's 
things  to  be  carried  out  in  the  boat  in  the  spring. 
Dick  undertook  the  charge  of  them  as  well  as 
Bob's  fur.  Ed  was  to  take  the  short  cut  to  the 
river  tilt  and  thence  follow  the  river  ice  while 
Dick  and  Bill  sprang  Bob's  traps  on  the  uppei 
end  of  his  path. 


128  UNGAVA  BOB 

"  But,"  said  Bill,  after  this  arrangement  was 
made,  "  Bob's  folks  be  in  sore  need  o'  th'  fur  he'd 
be  gettin*  an'  when  Ed  comes  back,  I'm  thinkin' 
'twould  be  fine  for  us  not  t'  be  takin'  rest  o* 
Saturdays  but  turnin'  right  back  in  th'  trails. 
Ed  can  be  doin'  one  tilt  o'  your  trail,  Dick,  an* 
so  shortenin'  your  trail  one  tilt  so  you  can  do 
two  o'  mine  an'  I'll  shorten  Ed  two  tilts  an'  do 
three  o'  Bob's.  I'd  be  willin*  t'  work  Sundays 
an'  I'm  thinkin'  th'  Lard  wouldn't  be  findin' 
fault  o'  me  for  doin'  un  seein'  Emily's  needin' 
th'  fur  t'  go  t'  th'  doctor.  Tis  sure  th'  Lard 
wouldn't  be  gettin'  angry  wi'  me  for  that,  for  He 
knows  how  bad  off  Emily  is." 

This  generous  proposal  met  with  the  approval 
of  all,  and  details  were  arranged  accordingly 
that  evening  as  to  just  what  each  was  to  do  until 
the  furring  season  closed  in  the  spring. 

This  was  Saturday,  December  the  twenty- 
eighth  On  Sunday  morning  Ed  bade  good-bye 
to  his  companions  and  began  the  long  and 
lonely  journey  to  Wolf  Bight  with  his  ghastly 
charge  in  tow. 


XII 

IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  NASCAUPEES 

LATE  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  that  Bob 
fell  asleep  in  the  snow,  he  awoke  to  new 
and  strange  surroundings.  His  first 
conscious  moments  brought  with  them  a  sense  of 
comfortable  security.  His  mind  had  thrown  off 
every  feeling  of  responsibility  and  he  knew  only 
that  he  was  warm  and  snugly  tucked  into  bed 
and  that  the  odour  of  spruce  forest  and  wood 
smoke  that  he  breathed  was  very  pleasant  He 
lay  quiet  for  a  time,  with  his  eyes  closed,  in  a 
state  of  blissful,  half  consciousness,  vaguely  real- 
izing these  things,  but  not  possessing  sufficient 
energy  to  open  his  eyes  and  investigate  them  or 
question  where  he  was. 

Slowly  his  mind  awoke  from  its  lethargy  and 
then  he  began  to  remember  as  a  dim,  uncer- 
tain dream,  his  experience  of  the  night  before. 
Gradually  it  became  more  real  but  he  recalled  his 
failure  to  find  the  tent,  the  fearful  groping  in  the 
snow,  and  his  struggle  for  life  against  the  storm 
129 


130  UNGAVA  BOB 

as  something  that  had  happened  in  the  long  dis- 
tant past. 

"  But  how  could  all  this  ha'  been  happenin'  t* 
me  now  ?  "  he  asked  himself,  for  here  he  was  snug 
in  the  tent— or  perhaps  he  had  reached  the  tilt 
and  did  not  remember. 

He  opened  his  eyes  now  for  the  first  time  to 
see  and  satisfy  himself  as  to  whether  it  was  the 
tent  or  the  tilt  he  was  in,  and  what  he  saw  aston- 
ished and  brought  him  to  his  senses  very 
quickly. 

He  recognized  at  once  the  interior  of  an  Indian 
wigwanio  In  the  centre  a  fire  was  burning  and 
an  Indian  woman  was  leaning  over  it  stirring  the 
contents  of  a  kettle.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the 
fire  from  her  sat  a  young  Indian  maiden  of 
about  Bob's  own  age  netting  the  babiche  in  a 
snow-shoe,  her  fingers  plying  deftly  in  and  out. 
The  woman  and  girl  wore  deerskin  garments  of 
peculiar  design.  The  former  was  fat  and  ugly, 
the  latter  slender,  and  very  comely,  he  thought, 
from  her  sleek  black  hair  to  her  feet  encased  in 
daintily  worked  little  moccasins.  At  that  mo- 
ment she  glanced  towards  him  and  said  some- 
thing to  her  companion,  who  turned  in  his  direo 
tion  also. 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  NASCAUPEES    131 

"Where  am  I?*'  he  asked  wonderingly  and 
with  some  alarm. 

They  both  laughed  and  jabbered  then  in  their 
Indian  tongue  but  he  could  not  understand  a 
word  they  said.  The  girl  lay  aside  the  snow- 
shoe  and  babiche  and,  taking  up  a  tin  cup, 
dipped  some  hot  broth  from  the  kettle  and 
offered  it  to  him.  He  accepted  it  gladly  for  he 
was  thirsty  and  felt  unaccountably  weak.  The 
broth  contained  no  salt  or  flavouring  of  any 
kind,  but  was  very  refreshing.  When  he  had 
finished  it  he  put  the  cup  down  and  attempted 
to  rise  but  this  movement  brought  forth  a  flood 
of  Indian  expostulations  and  he  was  forced  to 
lie  quiet  again. 

It  was  very  evident  that  he  was  either  considered 
an  invalid  too  ill  to  move  or  was  held  in  bond- 
age. He  had  never  heard  that  Indian  captives 
were  tucked  into  soft  deerskin  robes  and  fed 
broth  by  comely  Indian  maidens,  however,  and 
if  he  were  a  prisoner  it  did  not  promise  to  be  so 
very  disagreeable  a  captivity. 

On  the  whole  it  was  very  pleasant  and  restful 
lying  there  on  the  soft  skins  of  which  his  bed  was 
composed,  for  he  still  felt  tired  and  weak.  He  took 
in  every  detail  of  his  surroundings.  The  wig- 


132  UNGAVA  BOB 

warn  was  circular  in  form  and  of  good  size.  It 
was  made  of  reindeer  skins  stretched  over  poles 
very  dingy  and  black,  with  an  opening  at  the 
top  to  permit  the  smoke  from  the  fire  in  the 
centre  to  escape.  Flat  stones  raised  slightly 
above  the  ground  served  as  a  fireplace,  and 
around  it  were  thickly  laid  spruce  boughs.  Some 
strips  of  jerked  venison  hung  from  the  poles 
above,  and  near  his  feet  he  glimpsed  his  own 
gun  and  powder  horn. 

Bob  could  see  at  once  that  these  Indians  were 
much  more  primitive  than  those  he  knew  at  the 
Bay  and,  unfamiliar  as  he  was  with  the  Indian 
language,  he  noticed  a  marked  difference  in  the 
intonation  and  inflection  when  the  woman  spoke. 

"Now,"  said  Bob  to  himself,  "th'  Nascau- 
pees  must  ha'  found  me  an'  these  be  Nascau- 
pees.  But  Mountaineers  an'  every  one  says 
Nascaupees  be  savage  an'  cruel,  an'  I'm  not 
knowin'  what  un  be.  Tis  queer — most  wonder- 
ful queer." 

He  had  no  recollection  of  lying  down  in  the 
snow.  The  last  he  could  definitely  recall  was 
his  fearful  battling  with  the  storm.  There  was 
a  sort  of  hazy  remembrance  of  something  that 
he  could  not  quite  grasp — of  having  gone  to 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  NASCAUPEES    133 

sleep  somewhere  in  a  snug,  warm  bed  spread 
with  white  sheets.  Try  as  he  would  he  could 
not  explain  his  presence  in  this  Indian  wigwam, 
nor  could  he  tell  how  long  he  had  been  here. 
It  seemed  to  him  years  since  the  morning  he  left 
the  tilt  to  go  on  the  caribou  hunt. 

So  he  lay  for  a  good  while  trying  to  account 
for  his  strange  surroundings  until  at  last  he  be- 
came drowsy  and  was  on  the  point  of  going  to 
sleep  when  suddenly  the  entrance  flap  of  the 
wigwam  opened  and  two  Indians  entered — the 
most  savage  looking  men  Bob  had  ever  seen — 
and  he  felt  a  thrill  of  fear  as  he  beheld  them. 
They  were  very  tall,  slender,  sinewy  fellows, 
dressed  in  snug  fitting  deerskin  coats  reaching 
half  way  to  the  knees  and  decorated  with  elabo- 
rately painted  designs  in  many  colours.  Their 
heads  were  covered  with  hairy  hoods,  and  the 
ears  of  the  animal  from  which  they  were  made 
gave  a  grotesque  and  savage  appearance  to  the 
wearers.  Light  fitting  buckskin  leggings, 
fringed  on  the  outer  side,  encased  their  legs,  and 
a  pair  of  deerskin  mittens  dangled  from  the  ends 
of  a  string  which  was  slung  around  the  neck, 
One  of  the  men  was  past  middle  age,  the  other 
a  young  fellow  of  perhaps  twenty. 


134  UNGAVA  BOB 

The  older  woman  said  something  to  them  and 
they  began  to  jabber  in  so  high  a  tone  of  voice 
that  Bob  would  have  thought  they  were  quar- 
relling bu\  for  the  fact  that  they  laughed  good- 
naturedly  all  the  time  and  came  right  over  to 
where  he  lay  to  shake  his  hand.  They  had  a 
good  deal  to  say  to  him,  but  he  could  not  under- 
stand one  word  of  their  language.  After  greet- 
ing him  both  men  removed  their  outer  coats  and 
hoods,  and  Bob  could  not  but  admire  the  grace- 
ful, muscular  forms  that  the  buckskin  under- 
garments displayed.  Their  hair  was  long,  black 
and  straight  and  around  their  foreheads  was  tied 
a  thong  of  buckskin  to  keep  it  from  falling  over 
their  faces. 

They  laughed  at  Bob's  inability  to  understand 
them,  and  were  much  amused  when  he  tried  to 
talk  with  them.  Every  effort  was  made  to  put 
him  at  ease. 

When  the  men  were  finally  seated,  the  girl 
dipped  out  a  cup  of  broth  and  a  dish  of  venison 
stew  from  the  kettle  which  she  handed  to  Bob ; 
then  the  others  helped  themselves  from  what  re- 
mained. There  was  no  bread  nor  tea,  and  noth- 
ing to  eat  but  the  unflavoured  meat. 

It  was  quite  dark  now  and  the  fire  cast  weird, 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  NASCAUPEES    135 

uncanny  shadows  on  the  dimly-lighted  interior 
walls  of  the  wigwam.  The  Indians  sitting  around 
it  in  their  peculiar  dress  seemed  like  unreal  in- 
habitants of  some  spirit  world.  Bob's  coming 
to  himself  in  this  place  and  amongst  these  peo- 
ple appealed  to  him  as  miraculous — supernatural. 
He  could  not  understand  it  at  all  He  began  to 
plan  an  escape.  When  they  were  all  asleep  he 
could  steal  quietly  out  and  make  his  way  back  to 
the  tilt.  But,  then,  he  reasoned,  if  they  wished  to 
detain  him  they  could  easily  track  him  in  the 
snow  in  the  morning ;  and,  besides,  he  did  not 
know  where  his  snow-shoes  were  and  without 
them  he  could  not  go  far.  Neither  did  he  know 
how  far  he  was  from  the  tilt.  After  the  Indians 
had  found  him  they  may  have  carried  him 
several  days'  journey  to  their  camp  and  whether 
they  had  gone  west  or  north  he  had  no  way  of 
finding  out 

It  was,  therefore,  he  realized,  an  unquestion- 
ably hopeless  undertaking  for  him  to  attempt  to 
reach  his  tilt  alone,  and  he  finally  dismissed  the 
idea  as  impracticable.  Perhaps  in  the  morning 
he  could  induce  them  to  take  him  there.  That, 
he  concluded,  was  the  only  plan  for  him  to  fol- 
low So  far  they  had  been  very  kind  and  he 


136  UNGAVA  BOB 

could  see  no  reason  why  they  should  wish  tQ 
detain  him  against  his  will. 

The  Indians  were  indeed  Nascaupee  Indians, 
but  instead  of  being  the  ruthless  cut-throats  that 
the  Mountaineers  and  the  legends  of  the  coast 
had  painted  them,  they  were  human  and  hospi- 
table, as  all  our  eastern  Indians  were  before  white 
men  taught  them  to  be  thieves  and  drove  and 
goaded  them — by  the  white  man's  own  treachery 
—to  acts  of  reprisal  and  revenge. 

These  Nascaupees,  living  as  they  did  in  a  coun- 
try inaccessible  to  the  white  ravishers,  had  none 
but  kindly  motives  in  their  treatment  of  Bob  and 
had  no  desire  to  do  him  harm.  On  the  morning 
that  Bob  fell  in  the  snow  Shish-e-ta-ku-shin — 
Loud-voice — and  his  son  Moo-koo-mahn — Big 
Knife — had  left  their  wigwam  early  to  hunt.  Not 
far  away  they  crossed  Bob's  trail.  Their  practiced 
eye  told  them  that  the  traveller  was  not  an 
Indian,  for  the  snow-shoes  he  wore  were  not  of 
Indian  make,  and  also,  from  the  uncertain, 
wobbly  trail,  they  decided  that  he  was  far  spent. 
So  they  followed  the  tracks  and  within  a  few 
minutes  after  Bob  had  fallen  found  him.  They 
carried  him  to  the  wigwam  and  rubbed  his 
frosted  limbs  and  face  until  it  was  quite  safe  ft» 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  NASCAUPEES    137 

wrap  him  in  the  deerskins  in  the  warm  wig- 
wam. 

They  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor  where  he 
came  from,  but  they  did  know  that  he  needed 
care  and  several  days  of  quiet.  He  was  a 
stranger  and  they  took  him  in.  These  poor 
heathens  had  never  heard  of  Christ  or  His 
teachings,  but  their  hearts  were  human.  And 
so  it  was  that  Bob  found  himself  amongst  friends 
and  was  rescued  from  what  seemed  certain 
death. 

When  morning  came  Bob  tried  in  every  con- 
ceivable way  to  make  them  understand  that  he 
wished  to  be  taken  back,  but  he  found  it  a  quite 
hopeless  task.  No  signs  or  pantomime  could 
make  them  comprehend  his  meaning,  and  it  ap- 
peared that  he  was  doomed  to  remain  with 
them.  The  shock  of  exposure  had  been  so  great 
that  he  was  still  very  weak  and  not  able  to  walk, 
as  he  quickly  realized  when  he  tried  to  move 
about,  and  he  was  compelled  to  remain  within 
in  the  company  of  the  women,  in  spite  of  his  de* 
sire  to  go  out  and  reconnoitre. 

Ma-ni-ka-wan,  the  maiden,  took  it  upon  her- 
self to  be  his  nurse.  She  brought  him  water  to 
bathe  his  face,  which  was  very  sore  from  frost- 


138  UNGAVA  BOB 

jite,  and  gave  him  the  choicest  morsels  from  the 
kettle,  and  made  him  as  comfortable  as  possible. 

At  first  he  held  a  faint  hope  that  when  Bill 
missed  him  at  the  tilt,  a  search  would  be  made 
for  him  and  his  friends  would  find  the  wigwam. 
But  as  the  days  slipped  by  he  realized  that 
he  would  probably  never  be  discovered.  There 
came  a  fear  that  the  news  of  his  disappearance 
would  be  carried  to  Wolf  Bight  and  he  dreaded 
the  effect  upon  his  mother  and  Emily. 

But  there  was  one  consolation.  Emily  could  go 
to  the  hospital  now  and  be  cured.  Bill  would  find 
the  silver  fox  skin  and  his  share  of  that  and  the 
other  furs  would  pay  not  only  his  own  but  his 
father's  debts,  he  felt  sure,  as  well  as  all  the 
expense  of  Emily's  treatment  by  the  doctor — 
and  a  good  surplus  of  cash — how  much  he 
could  not  imagine  and  did  not  try  to  calculate — • 
for  the  doctor  had  said  that  silver  foxes  were 
worth  five  hundred  dollars  in  cash.  This 
thought  gave  him  a  degree  of  satisfaction  that 
towered  so  far  above  his  troubles  that  he  almost 
forgot  them. 

In  a  little  while  he  was  quite  strong  and  active 
again.  Finally  a  day  came  when  the  Indians 
made  preparations  to  move.  The  wigwam  was 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  NASCAUPEES    139 

taken  down  and  with  all  their  belongings  packed 
upon  toboggans,  and  under  the  cold  stars  of  a 
January  morning,  they  turned  to  the  northward, 
and  Bob  had  no  other  course  than  to  go  with 
them  even  farther  from  the  loved  ones  and  the 
home  that  his  heart  so  longed  to  see. 


XII! 

A  FOREBODING  OF  EVIL 

NEVER  before  had  Bob  been  away  from 
home  for  more  than  a  week  at  a  time, 
and  his  mother  and  Emily  were  very 
lonely  after  his  departure  in  September.  They 
missed  his  rough  good-natured  presence  with  the 
noise  and  confusion  that  always  followed  him  no 
less  than  his  little  thoughtful  attentions.  They 
forgot  the  pranks  that  the  overflow  of  his  young 
blood  sometimes  led  him  into,  remembering  only 
his  gentler  side.  He  had  helped  Emily  to  pass  the 
time  less  wearily,  often  sitting  for  hours  at  a  time 
by  her  couch,  telling  her  stories  or  joking  with  her, 
or  making  plans  for  the  future,  and  she  felt  his 
absence  now  perhaps  more  than  even  his  mother. 
Many  times  during  the  first  week  or  so  after  his 
going  she  found  herself  turning  wistfully  towards 
the  door  half  expecting  to  see  him  enter,  at  the 
hours  when  he  used  to  come  back  from  the  fish- 
ing, and  then  she  would  realize  that  he  was  really 
gone  away,  and  would  turn  her  face  to  the  wall, 
140 


A  FOREBODING  OF  EVIL          141 

that  her  mother  might  not  see  her,  and  cnr 
quietly  in  her  loneliness. 

Without  Bob's  help,  Richard  Gray  was  very 
busy  now.  The  fishing  season  was  ended,  but 
there  was  wood  to  be  cut  and  much  to  be  done 
in  preparation  for  the  long  winter  close  at  hand. 
He  went  early  each  morning  to  his  work,  and 
only  returned  to  the  cabin  with  the  dusk  of  even- 
ing. This  home-coming  of  the  father  was  the 
one  bright  period  of  the  day  for  Emily,  and  dur- 
ing the  dreary  hours  that  preceded  it,  she  looked 
forward  with  pleasure  and  longing  to  the 
moment  when  he  should  open  the  door,  and  call 
out  to  her, 

"  An1  how's  my  little  maid  been  th'day  ?  Has 
she  been  lonesome  without  her  daddy  ?  " 

And  she  would  always  answer,  "  I's  been  fine, 
but  dreadful  lonesome  without  daddy." 

Then  he  would  kiss  her,  and  sit  down  for  a 
little  while  by  her  couch,  before  he  ate  his  sup- 
per, to  tell  her  of  the  trivial  happenings  out  of 
doors,  while  he  caressed  her  by  stroking  her 
hair  gently  back  from  her  forehead.  After  the 
meal  the  three  would  chat  for  an  hour  or  so 
while  he  smoked  his  pipe  and  Mrs.  Gray  washed 
the  dishes.  Then  before  they  went  to  their  rest 


142  UNGAVA  BOB 

•he  would  laboriously  read  a  selection  from  the 
Bible,  and  afterwards,  on  his  knees  by  Emily's 
couch,  thank  God  for  His  goodness  to  them  and 
ask  for  His  protection,  always  ending  with  the 
petition, 

"An',  Lard,  look  after  th'  lad  an*  keep 
he  safe  from  th'  Nascaupees  an'  all  harm ;  an* 
heal  th'  maid  an'  make  she  well,  for,  Lard,  you 
must  be  knowin'  what  a  good  little  maid  she  is." 

Emily  never  heard  this  prayer  without  feeling 
an  absolute  confidence  that  it  would  be  answered 
literally,  for  God  was  very  real  to  her,  and  she 
had  the  complete,  unshattered  faith  of  childhood. 

Late  in  October  the  father  went  to  his  trapping 
trail,  and  after  that  was  only  home  for  a  couple 
of  days  each  fortnight  There  was  no  pleasant 
evening  hour  now  for  Emily  and  her  mother  to 
look  forward  to.  The  men  of  the  bay  were  all 
away  at  their  hunting  trails,  and  no  callers  ever 
came  to  break  the  monotony  of  their  life,  save 
once  in  a  while  Douglas  Campbell  would  tramp 
over  the  ice  the  eight  miles  from  Kenemish  to 
spend  an  afternoon  and  cheer  them  up. 

Emily  missed  Bob  more  than  ever,  since  her 
father  had  gone,  but  she  was  usually  very  patient 
and  cheerful.  For  hours  at  a  time  she  would 


A  FOREBODING  OF  EVIL         143 

chink  of  his  home-coming,  and  thrill  with  the  joy 
of  it  In  her  fancy  she  would  see  him  as  he 
w'ould  look  when  he  came  in  after  his  long  ab- 
sence, and  in  her  imagination  picture  the  days 
and  days  of  happiness  that  would  follow  while  he 
sat  by  her  couch  and  told  her  of  his  adventures 
in  the  far  off  wilderness.  Once,  late  in  Novem- 
ber, she  called  her  mother  to  her  and  asked : 

"  Mother,  how  long  will  it  be  now  an'  Bob 
comes  home  ?  " 

"  Tis  many  months  till  th'  open  water,  but  I 
were  hopin',  dear,  that  mayhap  he'd  be  comin' 
at  th'  New  Year." 

"  An'  how  long  may  it  be  to  th'  New  Year, 
mother?" 

"  A  bit  more  than  a  month,  but  'tis  not  certain 
he'll  be  comin*  then." 

"'Tis  a  long  while  t'  wait — a  terrible  long 
while  t'  be  waitin'— -t1  th'  New  Year." 

"  Not  so  long,  Emily.  Th'  time'll  be  slippin' 
by  before  we  knows.  But  don't  be  countin'  on 
his  comin'  th'  New  Year,  for  'tis  a  rare  long 
cruise  t'  th'  Big  Hill  trail  an'  he  may  be  waitin' 
till  th'  break-up.  But  I'm  thinkin'  my  lad'll  be 
wantin'  t'  see  how  th'  little  maid  is, — an'  see  his 
mother — an'  mayhap  be  takin'  th'  cruise." 


*44  UNGAVA  BOB 

"  An  Bob  knew  how  lonesome  we  were — hora 
wonderful  lonesome  we  were — he'd  be  comin'  at 
th'  New  Year  sure.  An*  he'll  be  gettin'  lonesome 
hisself.  He  must  be  gettin'  dreadful  lonesome 
away  off  in  th'  bush  this  long  time  I  He'll  sure 
be  comin'  at  th'  New  Year  !  " 

After  this  Emily  began  to  keep  account  of  the 
days  as  they  passed.  She  had  her  mother 
reckon  for  her  the  actual  number  until  New 
Year's  Eve,  and  each  morning  she  would  say, 
"  only  so  many  days  now  an'  Bob'll  be  cornin* 
home."  Her  mother  warned  her  that  it  was  not 
at  all  certain  he  would  come  then — only  a  hope. 
But  it  grew  to  be  a  settled  fact  for  Emily,  and  a 
part  of  her  daily  life,  to  expect  and  plan  Sor  the 
happy  time  when  she  should  see  him. 

Mrs.  Gray  had  not  been  able  to  throw  off  en- 
tirely the  foreboding  of  calamity  that  she  had 
voiced  at  the  time  Bob  left  home.  Every  morn- 
ing she  awoke  with  a  heavy  heart,  like  one  bear- 
ing a  great  weight  of  sorrow.  Before  going 
about  her  daily  duties  she  would  pray  for  the 
preservation  of  her  son  and  the  healing  of  her 
daughter,  and  it  would  relieve  her  burden  some- 
what, but  never  wholly  The  strange  Presence 
was  alwavs  with  her. 


A  FOREBODING  OF  EVIL          145 

One  day  when  Douglas  Campbell  came  over 
he  found  her  very  despondent,  and  he  asked : 

"Now  what's  troublin'  you,  Mary?  There's 
some  trouble  on  yer  mind.  Don't  be  worry  in' 
about  th'  lad.  He's  as  safe  as  you  be.  He'll 
be  comin*  home  as  fine  an'  hearty  as  ever  you 
see  him,  an'  with  a  fine  hunt" 

"  I  knows  the's  no  call  for  th'  worry,"  she  an- 
swered, "but  some  ways  I  has  a  forebodin'  o' 
somethin'  evil  t'  happen  an'  I  can't  shake  un  off. 
I  can't  tell  what  an  be.  Mayhap  ;tis  th'  maid. 
She's  no  better,  an'  th'  Lard's  not  answerin'  my 
prayer  yet  t'  give  back  strength  f  she  an'  make 
she  walk." 

"Twill  be  all  right  wi'  th*  maid,  now.  Th1 
doctor  said  they'd  be  makin'  she  well  at  th'  hos- 
pital." 

M  But  the's  no  money  f  send  she  t'  th'  hospital 
— an'  if  she  don't  go — th'  doctor  said  she'd  never 
be  gettin'  well." 

"  Now  don't  be  lettin'  that  worrv  ye,  Mary. 
Th'  Lard'll  be  findin'  a  way  t'  send  she  t'  St 
Johns  when  th'  mail  boat  comes  back  in  th* 
spring,  if  that  be  His  way  o'  curin  sne — I  knows 
He  will.  Th'  Lard  always  does  things  right  an' 
He'll  be  fixin'  it  right  for  th'  maid.  He'd  not  be 


146  UNGAVA  BOB 

lettin*  a  pretty  maid  like  Emily  go  all  her  life 
wi'out  walkin' — He  never  would  do  that.  I'm 
thinkin'  He'd  a'  found  a  way  afore  now  if  th*  mail 
boat  had  been  makin'  another  trip  before  th* 
freeze  up." 

"  I'm  lackin'  in  faith,  I'm  fearin*.  I'm  always 
forgettin1  that  th'  Lard  does  what's  best  for  us 
an'  don't  always  do  un  th'  way  we  wants  He  to. 
He's  bidin'  His  own  time  I'm  thinkin',  an*  an- 
swerin'  my  prayers  th'  way  as  is  best." 

This  talk  with  Douglas  made  her  feel  better, 
but  still  there  was  that  burden  on  her  heart—* 
a  burden  that  would  not  be  shaken  off. 

All  the  Bay  was  frozen  now,  and  white,  lika 
the  rest  of  the  world,  with  drifted  snow.  The 
great  box  stove  in  the  cabin  was  kept  well  filled 
with  wood  night  and  day  to  keep  out  the  search- 
ing cold.  An  inch-thick  coat  of  frost  covered  the 
inner  side  of  the  glass  panes  of  the  two  windows 
and  shut  out  the  morning  sunbeams  that  used  to 
steal  across  the  floor  to  brighten  the  little  room. 
December  was  fast  drawing  to  a  close. 

Richard  Gray's  luck  had  changed.  Fur  was 
plentiful — more  plentiful  than  it  had  been  for 
years — and  he  was  hopeful  that  by  spring  he 
would  have  enough  to  pay  all  his  back  debt  at 


A  FOREBODING  OF  EVIL          147 

the  company  store  and  be  on  his  feet  again. 
Two  days  before  Christmas  he  reached  home  in 
high  good  humour,  with  the  pelts  he  had  caught, 
and  displayed  them  with  satisfaction  to  Mrs. 
Gray  and  Emily — beautiful  black  otters,  martens, 
minks  and  beavers  with  a  few  lynx  and  a  couple 
of  red  foxes. 

"  I'll  be  stayin'  home  for  a  fortnight  t'  get  some 
more  wood  cut,"  he  announced.  "How'll  that 
suit  th'  maid?" 

"Oh!  'Tis  fine  I"  cried  the  child,  clapping 
her  hands  with  delight.  "An'  Bob'll  be  home 
for  the  New  Year  an'  we'll  all  be  havin'  a  fine 
time  together  before  you  an1  Bob  goes  away 
again." 

"  In  th'  mornin'  Til  have  t1  be  goin*  f  th'  Post 
wi'  th'  dogs  an'  komatik  t'  get  some  things.  Is 
there  anything  yer  wantin',  Mary  ?  "  he  asked  his 
wife. 

"  We  has  plenty  o'  flour  an'  molasses  an*  tea ; 
but,"  she  suggested,  "  th1  next  day's  Christmas, 
Richard." 

"  Aye,  I'm  thinkin'  o'  un  an'  I  may  be  seein' 
Santa  Claus  t*  tell  un  what  a  rare  fine  maid 
Emily's  been  an'  ask  un  not  t'  be  forgettin*  she. 
He's  been  wonderful  forgetful  not  t*  be  comin' 


<48  UNGAVA  BOB 

round  last  Christmas  anf  th'  Christmas  before 
I'll  have  t'  be  remindin'  he." 

Emily  looked  up  wistfully. 

"An'  you  are  thinkin'  he'll  have  time  f  come 
here  wi'  all  th'  places  t'  go  to  ?  Oh,  I'm  wishin' 
he  would  1" 

"  I'll  just  make  un — I'll  just  make  un,"  said  her 
father.  "  I'll  not  let  un  pass  my  maid  every  time." 

Emily  was  awake  early  the  next  morning — be- 
fore daybreak.  Her  father  was  about  to  start  for 
the  Post,  and  the  dogs  were  straining  and  jump- 
ing in  the  traces.  She  knew  this  because  she 
could  hear  their  expectant  howls, — and  the  dogs 
never  howled  just  like  that  under  any  other  cir- 
cumstances. Then  she  heard  "  hoo-ett — hoo-ett  '* 
as  he  gave  them  the  word  to  be  off  and,  in  the 
distance,  as  he  turned  them  down  the  brook  to 
the  right  his  shouts  of  "  ouk  !  ouk  I  ouk  1 — ouk  I 
ouk!  ouk!" 

It  was  a  day  of  delightful  expectancy.  To- 
morrow would  be  Christmas  and  perhaps — per- 
haps— Santa  Claus  would  come !  She  chattered 
all  day  to  her  mother  about  it,  wondering  if  he 
would  really  come  and  what  he  would  bring  her. 

Finally,  just  at  nightfall  she  heard  her  father 
touting  at  the  dogs  outside  and  presently  he 


A  FOREBODING  OF  EVIL          149 

ie  in  carrying  his  komatik  box,  his  beard 
weighted  with  ice  and  his  clothing  white  with 
hoar  frost. 

"Well,"  announced  he,  as  he  put  down  the 
box  and  pulled  his  adikey  over  his  head,  "  I  were 
seein'  Santa  Claus  th'  day  an'  givin'  he  a  rare 
scoldin'  for  passin'  my  maid  by  these  two  year — 
a  rare  scoldin' — an*  I'm  thinkin'  he'll  not  be 
passin'  un  by  this  Christmas.  He'll  not  be 
wantin'  another  such  scoldin'." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Emily,  "  'twere  too  bad  t'  scold 
un.  He  must  be  havin'  a  wonderful  lot  o'  places 
t*  go  to  an'  he's  not  deservin*  t'  be  scolded  now. 
He's  sure  doin'  th'  best  he  can — I  knows  he's  doin' 
th'  best  he  can." 

"  He  were  deservin'  of  un,  an'  more.  He  were 
passin'  my  maid  two  year  runnin'  an'  I  can't  be 
havin'  that,"  insisted  the  father  as  he  hung  up 
his  adikey  and  stooped  to  open  the  komatik  box, 
from  which  he  extracted  a  small  package  which 
he  handed  to  Emily  saying,  "  Somethin'  Bessie 
were  sendin'." 

"Look!  Look,  mother  I"  Emily  cried  ex- 
citedly as  she  undid  the  package  and  discovered 
a  bit  of  red  ribbon ;  "  a  hair  ribbon  an' — an'  a 
paper  with  some  writin* ! w 


150  UNGAVA  BOB 

Mrs.  Gray  duly  examined  and  admired  the 
gift  while  Emily  spelled  out  the  message. 

Tto 


"  Oh,  an'  Bessie's  fine  t'  be  rememberin'  me  1  * 
said  she,  adding  regretfully,  "  I'm  wishin'  I'd  been 
sendin'  she  somethin'  but  I  hasn't  a  thing  t'  send." 

"Aye,  Bessie's  a  fine  lass,"  said  her  father. 
"  She  sees  me  comin'  an'  runs  down  t'  meet  me, 
an'  asks  how  un  be,  an'  if  we're  hearin'  e'er  a 
word  from  Bob.  An'  I  tells  she  Emily's  fine  an 
we're  not  hearin'  from  Bob,  but  are  thinkin'  un 
may  be  comin'  home  for  th'  New  Year.  An* 
then  Bessie  says  as  she's  wantin'  t'  come  over  at 
th'  New  Year  t'  visit  Emily." 

"  An'  why  weren't  you  askin'  she  t'  come  back 
with  un  th'  day  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gray. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  she  had  !  "  exclaimed  Emily. 

"I  were  askin'  she,"  he  explained,  "but  she 
were  thinkin'  she'd  wait  till  th'  New  Year.  Her 
mother's  rare  busy  th'  week  wi'  th'  men  all  in 
from  th'  bush,  an'  needin'  Bessie's  help." 

"An*  how's  th'  folk  findin'  th'  fur?"  asked 
Mrs.  Gray  as  she  poured  the  tea. 


A  FOREBODING  OF  EVIL          151 

"Wonderful  fine.  Wonderful  fine  with  all  un 
as  be  in." 

"An'  I'm  glad  t'  hear  un.  Twill  be  givin'  th' 
folk  a  chance  t'  pay  th'  debts.  Th'  two  bad  sea 
sons  must  ha*  put  most  of  un  in  a  bad  way  for 
debt" 

"  Aye,  'twill  that  An'  now  we're  like  t*  have 
two  fine  seasons.  Tis  th'  way  un  always  runs." 

"  'Tis  th'  Lard's  way,"  said  Mrs.  Gray  rever- 
ently. 

"  The's  a  band  o>  Injuns  come  th'  day,"  added 
Richard  Gray,  "  an'  they  reports  fur  rare  plenty 
inside,  as  'tis  about  here.  An*  I'm  thinkin' 
Bob'll  be  doin'  fine  his  first  year  JP  th'  bush," 

"  Oh,  I'm  hopin' — I'm  hopin'  so — for  th'  lad's 
sake  an'  Emily's.  'Tis  how  th'  Lard's  makin'  a 
way  for  th'  brave  lad  f  send  Emily  \.'  th'  doctor 
— an'  he  comes  back  safe." 

"  I  were  askin'  th'  Mountaineers  had  they  seen 
Nascaupee  footin',  an'  they  seen  none.  They're 
sayin'  th'  Nascaupees  has  been  keepin1  t'  th' 
nuth'ard  th'  winter,  an'  we're  not  f  fear  for  th' 
lad." 

"Thank  th'  Lard!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gray. 
"  Thank  th'  Lard !  An'  now  that's  relieviri  my 
mind  wonderful — relievin' — it — wonderful." 


*53  UNGAVA  BOB 

There  was  an  added  earnestness  to  Richard 
Gray's  expressions  of  thanksgiving  when  he 
knelt  with  his  wife  by  their  child's  couch  for 
family  worship  that  Christmas  eve,  and  there  was 
an  unwonted  happiness  in  their  hearts  when  they 
went  to  their  night's  rest 


XIV 

THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH 

THE  kettle  was  singing  merrily  on  the 
stove,  and  Mrs.  Gray  was  setting  the 
breakfast  table,  when  Emily  awoke  on 
Christmas  morning.     Her  father  was  just  com- 
ing in  from  out-of-doors  bringing  a  breath  of  the 
fresh  winter  air  with  him. 

"  A  Merry  Christmas,"  he  called  to  her.  "  A 
Merry  Christmas  t*  my  maid  1 " 

"And  did  Santa  Claus  come?"  she  asked, 
looking  around  expectantly. 

"  Santa  Claus  ?  There  now  ! "  he  exclaimed, 
**an'  has  th'  old  rascal  been  forgettin'  t'  come 
again  ?  Has  you  seen  any  signs  o'  Santa  Claus 
bein'  here  ? "  he  asked  of  Mrs.  Gray,  as  though 
thinking  of  it  for  the  first  time.  Then,  turning 
towards  the  wall  back  of  the  stove,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Ah  !  Ah !  an'  what's  this  ?  " 

Emily  looked,  and  there,  sitting  upon  the 
shelf,  was  a  doll  t 

"  Oh  I     Oh,  th'  dear  little  thing  1 "  she  cried 
"  Oh,  let  me  have  un  1 " 
'53 


154  UNGAVA  BOB 

Mrs.  Gray  took  it  down  and  handed  it  to  her, 
and  she  hugged  it  to  her  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight 
Then  she  held  it  off  and  looked  at  it,  and  hugged 
again,  and  for  very  joy  she  wept  It  was  only 
a  poor  little  rag  doll  with  face  and  hair  gro- 
tesquely painted  upon  the  cloth,  and  dressed  in 
printed  calico — but  it  was  a  doll — a  real  one — 
the  first  that  Emily  had  ever  owned.  It  had 
been  the  dream  of  her  life  that  some  day  she 
might  have  one,  and  now  the  dream  was  a 
blessed  reality.  Her  happiness  was  quite  beyond 
expression  as  she  lay  there  on  her  bed  that 
Christmas  morning  pressing  the  doll  to  her 
breast  and  crying.  Poverty  has  its  seasons  of 
recompense  that  more  than  counterbalance  all  the 
pleasures  that  wealth  can  buy,  and  this  was  one 
of  those  seasons  for  the  family  of  Richard  Gray. 

Presently  Emily  stopped  crying,  and  through 
the  tears  came  laughter,  and  she  held  the  toy 
out  for  her  father  and  mother  to  take  and  ex- 
amine and  admire. 

A  little  later  Mrs.  Gray  came  from  the  closet 
holding  a  mysterious  package  in  her  hand. 

"  Now  what  be  this  ?  'Twere  in  th'  closet  an' 
looks  like  somethin*  more  Santa  Glaus  were 
leavin'." 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH         155 

"Well  now  1 "  exclaimed  Richard,  "  what  may 
that  be  ?  Open  un  an'  we'll  see." 

An  investigation  of  its  contents  revealed  a 
couple  of  pounds  of  sugar,  some  currants,  raisins 
and  a  small  can  of  butter. 

"  Santa  Claus  were  wantin'  us  t'  have  a  plum 
puddin'  I'm  thinkin',"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  as  she  ex- 
amined each  article  and  showed  it  to  Emily. 
"  An'  we're  t'  have  sugar  for  th'  tea  and  butter 
for  th'  bread.  But  th'  puddin's  not  t*  get  all  th' 
raisins.  Emily's  t'  have  some  t'  eat  after  we  has 
breakfast" 

Dinner  was  a  great  success.  There  were  roast 
ptarmigans  stuffed  with  fine-chopped  pork  and 
bread,  and  the  unwonted  luxuries  of  butter  and 
sugar — and  then  the  plum  pudding  served  with 
molasses  for  sauce.  That  was  fine,  and  Emily 
had  to  have  two  helpings  of  it.  If  Bob  had  been 
with  them  their  cup  of  happiness  would  have 
been  filled  quite  to  the  brim,  and  more  than  once 
Emily  exclaimed : 

"  Now  if  Bob  was  only  here  1 "  And  several 
times  during  the  day  she  said,  "  I'm  just  wishirf 
t*  show  Bob  my  pretty  doll — an*  won't  he  be  glad 
t'  see  un  ! " 

The  report  from  the  Mountaineer  Indians  that 


156  UNGAVA  BOB 

no  Nascaupees  had  been  seen  had  set  at  rest 
their  fears  for  the  lad's  safety.  The  apprehension 
that  he  might  get  into  the  hands  of  the  Nascau- 
pees had  been  the  chief  cause  of  worry,  for  they 
felt  full  confidence  in  Bob's  ability  to  cope  with 
the  wilderness  itself. 

The  day  was  so  full  of  surprises  and  new  sensa- 
tions that  when  bedtime  came  Emily  was  quite 
tired  out  with  the  excitement  of  it  all,  and  was 
hardly  able  to  keep  awake  until  the  family  wor- 
ship was  closed.  Then  she  went  to  sleep  with 
the  doll  hi  her  arms. 

The  week  from  Christmas  till  New  Year  passed 
quickly.  Richard  Gray  was  at  home,  and  this 
was  a  great  treat  for  Mrs.  Gray  and  Emily,  and 
with  several  of  their  neighbours  who  lived  within 
ten  to  twenty  miles  of  Wolf  Bight  driving  over 
with  dogs  to  spend  a  few  hours — for  most  of  the 
men  were  home  from  their  traps  for  the  holi- 
days— the  time  was  pretty  well  filled  up. 
Emily's  doll  was  a  never  failing  source  of  amuse- 
ment to  her,  and  she  always  slept  with  it  in  her 
arms. 

Over  at  the  Post  it  was  a  busy  week  for  Mr, 
MacDonald  and  his  people,  for  all  the  Bay  hunt- 
ers and  Indians  had  trading  to  do,  and  most  of 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH          157 

them  remained  at  least  one  night  to  gossip  and 
discuss  their  various  prospects  and  enjoy  the 
hospitality  of  the  kitchen ;  and  then  there  was  a 
dance  nearly  every  night,  for  this  was  their 
season  of  amusement  and  relaxation  in  the 
midst  of  the  months  of  bitter  hardships  on  the 
trail. 

Bessie  and  her  mother  had  not  a  moment  to 
themselves,  with  all  the  extra  cooking  and  clean- 
ing to  be  done,  for  it  fell  upon  them  to  provide 
for  every  one ;  and  it  became  quite  evident  to 
Bessie  that  she  could  not  get  away  for  her  pro- 
posed visit  to  Wolf  Bight  until  the  last  of  the 
hunters  was  gone.  This  would  not  be  until  the 
day  after  New  Year's,  so  she  postponed  her  re- 
quest to  her  father,  to  take  her  over,  until  New 
Year's  day.  Then  she  watched  for  a  favourable 
opportunity  when  she  was  alone  with  him  and 
her  mother.  Finally  it  came  late  in  the  after- 
noon, when  he  stepped  into  the  house  for  some- 
thing, and  she  asked  him  timidly : 

M  Father,  I'm  wantin'  t'  go  on  a  cruise  t'  Wolf 
Bight — t'  see  Emily — can't  you  take  me  over 
with  th'  dogs  an'  komatik  ?  " 

"  When  you  wantin' t'  go,  lass  ?  "  he  asked 

"  Tm  wishin'  t'  be  goin'  to-morrow  " 


158  UNGAVA  BOB 

"  I'm  t1  be  wonderful  busy  for  a  few  days. 
Can't  un  wait  a  week  or  two  ?  " 

41  I'm  wantin'  t'  go  now,  father,  if  I  goes.  I'm 
not  wantin'  t'  wait." 

"  Bob's  t'  be  home,"  suggested  Mrs.  Blake, 

"Oh,  ho!  I  seel"  he  exclaimed.  "Tisn't 
Bob  instead  o'  Emily  you're  wantin'  so  wonder- 
ful bad  t'  see  now,  is  un  ?  " 

"'Tis— Emily— I'm  wantin'— t'— see,"  faltered 
Bessie,  blushing  prettily  and  fingering  the  hem 
of  her  apron  in  which  she  was  suddenly  very 
much  interested. 

"Bob's  a  fine  lad — a  fine  lad — an'  I'm  not 
wonderin',"  said  her  father  teasingly. 

"  Now,  Tom,"  interceded  Mrs.  Black,  "  don't 
be  tormentin'  Bessie.  O'  course  'tis  just  Emily 
she's  wantin'  t'  see.  She's  not  thinkin'  o'  th' 
lads  yet" 

"  Oh,  aye,"  said  he,  looking  slyly  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye  at  Bessie,  who  was  blushing 
now  to  the  very  roots  of  her  hair,  "  I'm  not 
blamin'  she  for  likin'  Bob.  I  likes  he  myself." 

"  Well,  Tom,  be  tellin'  th'  lass  you'll  take  she 
over.  She's  been  kept  wonderful  close  th'  win- 
ter, an'  the  cruise  '11  be  doin'  she  good,"  urged 
Mrs.  Black. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH         159 

•*  I  wants  t'  go  so  much,"  Bessie  pleaded. 

"Well,  I'll  ask  Mr.  MacDonald  can  he  spare 
me  th'  day.  I'm  thinkin'  'twill  be  all  right,"  he 
finally  assented. 

And  it  was  all  right  When  the  last  hunter 
had  disappeared  the  next  morning,  the  komatik 
was  got  ready.  A  box  made  for  the  purpose 
was  lashed  on  the  back  end  of  it,  and  warm  rein- 
deer skins  spread  upon  the  bottom  for  Bessie  to 
sit  upon.  Then  the  nine  big  dogs  were  called 
by  shouting  "  Ho  1  Ho  1  Ho  1 "  to  them,  and  were 
caught  and  harnessed,  after  which  Tom  cracked 
a  long  walrus-hide  whip  over  their  heads,  and 
made  them  lie  quiet  until  Bessie  was  tucked 
snugly  in  the  box,  and  wrapped  well  in  deerskin 
robes. 

When  at  last  all  was  ready  the  father  stepped 
aside  with  his  whip,  and  immediately  the  dogs 
were  up  jumping  and  straining  in  their  harness 
and  giving  short  impatient  howls,  over  eager  to 
be  away.  Tom  grasped  the  front  end  of  the 
komatik  runners,  pulled  them  sharply  to  one 
side  to  break  them  loose  from  the  snow  to  which 
they  were  frozen,  and  instantly  the  dogs  were  off 
at  a  gallop  running  like  mad  over  the  ice  with 
the  trailing  komatik  in  imminent  danger  of  turn- 


160  UNGAVA  BOB 

ing  over  when  it  struck  the  ice  hummocks  that 
the  tide  had  scattered  for  some  distance  out  from 
the  shore. 

Presently  they  calmed  down,  however,  to  a  jog 
trot,  and  Tom  got  off  the  komatik  and  ran  by  its 
side,  guiding  the  team  by  calling  out  "  ouk " 
when  he  wanted  to  turn  to  the  right  and  "  rud- 
der" to  turn  to  the  left,  repeating  the  words 
many  times  in  rapid  succession  as  though  trying 
to  see  how  fast  he  could  say  them.  The  head 
dog,  or  leader,  always  turned  quickly  at  the 
word  of  command,  and  the  others  followed. 

It  was  a  very  cold  day — fifty  degrees  below 
zero  Mr.  MacDonald  had  said  before  they 
started — and  Bessie's  father  looked  frequently  to 
see  that  her  nose  and  cheeks  were  not  freezing, 
for  a  traveller  in  the  northern  country  when  not 
exercising  violently  will  often  have  these  parts  of 
the  face  frozen  without  knowing  it  or  even  feel- 
ing cold,  and  if  the  wind  is  blowing  in  the  face  is 
pretty  sure  to  have  them  frosted  anyway. 

Most  of  the  snow  had  drifted  off  the  ice,  and 
the  dogs  had  a  good  hard  surface  to  travel  upon, 
and  were  able  to  keep  up  a  steady  trot.  They 
made  such  good  time  that  in  tsir*>  hours  they 
turned  into  Wolf  Bight,  and  as  they  approached 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH         161 

ihe  Grays'  cabin  broke  into  a  gallop,  for  dogs 
always  like  to  begin  a  journey  and  end  it  with  a 
flourish  of  speed  just  to  show  how  fast  they  can 
go,  no  matter  how  slowly  they  may  jog  along 
between  places. 

The  dogs  at  Wolf  Bight  were  out  to  howl  de- 
fiance at  them  as  they  approached  and  to  indulge 
in  a  free  fight  with  the  newcomers  when  they  ar- 
rived, until  the  opposing  ones  were  beaten  apart 
with  clubs  and  whips.  It  is  a  part  of  a  husky 
dog's  religion  to  fight  whenever  an  excuse  offers, 
and  often  when  there  is  no  excuse. 

Richard  and  Mrs.  Gray  came  running  out  to 
meet  Tom  and  Bessie,  and  Bessie  was  hurried 
into  the  cabin  where  Emily  was  waiting  in  ex- 
cited expectancy  to  greet  her.  Mrs.  Gray  bustled 
about  at  once  and  brewed  some  hot  tea  for  the 
visitors  and  set  out  a  luncheon  of  bread  for 
them. 

"  Now  set  in  an'  have  a  hot  drink  t'  warm  un 
up,"  said  she  when  it  was  ready.  "  You  must  be 
most  froze,  Bessie,  this  frosty  day." 

"  I  were  warm  wrapped  in  th'  deerskins,  an* 
not  so  cold,"  Bessie  answered 

"  We  were  lookin'  for  Bob  these  three  days," 
remarked  Mrs.  Gray  as  she  poured  the  tea. 


162  UNGAVA  BOB 

"  We  were  thinkin'  he'd  sure  be  gettin'  lonesome 
by  now,  an'  be  makin'  a  cruise  out" 

"  'Tis  a  long  cruise  from  th'  Big  Hill  trail  unless 
he  were  needing  somethin',"  suggested  Tom, 
taking  his  seat  at  the  table. 

"  Aye,"  assented  Richard,  "  an'  I'm  thinkin'  th' 
lad'll  not  be  wantin'  t'  lose  th'  time  'twill  take  t' 
come  out  He'll  be  biding  inside  t'  make  th'  most 
o'  th'  huntin',  an'  th'  fur  be  plenty." 

"That  un  will,"  agreed  Tom,  "an'  'twould 
not  be  wise  for  un  t'  be  losin'  a  good  three 
weeks  o'  huntin'.  Bob's  a  workin'  lad,  an* 
I'm  not  thinkin'  you'll  see  he  till  open  water 
comes." 

"  Oh,"  broke  in  Emily,  "  an'  don't  un  really 
think  Bob's  t'  come  ?  I  been  wishin'  so  for  un, 
an'  'twould  be  grand  t'  have  he  come  while  Bes- 
sie's here." 

"  Bessie's  thinkin'  'twould  too,"  said  Tom,  who 
could  not  let  pass  an  opportunity  to  tease  his 
daughter. 

They  all  looked  at  Bessie,  who  blushed  furi- 
ously, but  said  nothing,  realizing  that  silence  was 
the  best  means  of  diverting  her  father's  attention 
from  the  subject,  and  preventing  his  further  re- 
marks. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH         163 

M  Well  I'll  have  f  be  goin',"  said  Tom  pres- 
ently, pushing  back  from  the  table. 

"  Oh,  sit  down,  man,  an'  bide  a  bit.  There's 
nothin'  t'  take  un  back  so  soon.  Bide  here  th* 
night,  can't  un?"  urged  Richard. 

"  I  were  sayin'  t'  Mr.  MacDonald  as  I'd  be  back 
tf  th'  post  th'  day,  so  promisin'  I  has  t'  go." 

"  Aye,  an'  un  promised,  though  I  were  hopin* 
t*  have  un  bide  th'  night" 

"  When'll  I  be  comin'  for  un,  Bessie?"  asked 
Tom. 

"  Oh,  Bessie  must  be  bidin*  a  long  time,"  plead 
Emily.  "  I've  been  wishin'  t'  have  she  so  much. 
Please  be  leavin'  she  a  long  time." 

"Mother'll  be  needin'  me  I'm  thinkin*  in  a 
week,"  said  Bessie,  "though  I'd  like  t*  bide 
jfonger." 

"  Your  mother'll  not  be  needin1  un,  now  th* 
men's  gone.  Bide  wi'  Emily  a  fortnight,"  her 
father  suggested. 

"  I'll  take  th1  lass  over  when  she's  wantin*  f 
go,"  said  Richard.  "  'Tis  a  rare  treat  t'  Emily  t 
have  she  here,  an'  th'  change'll  be  doin' your  lass 
good." 

So  it  was  agreed,  and  Tom  drove  away. 

It  was  a  terrible  disappointment  to  Emily  and 


164  UNGAVA  BOB 

her  mother  that  Bob  did  not  come,  but  Bessie's 
visit  served  to  mitigate  it  to  some  extent,  and  her 
presence  brightened  the  cabin  very  much. 

No  one  knew  whether  or  not  Bob's  failure  to 
appear  was  regretted  by  Bessie.  That  was  her 
secret.  However  it  may  have  been,  she  had  a 
splendid  visit  with  Mrs.  Gray  and  Emily,  and  the 
days  rolled  by  very  pleasantly,  and  when  Richard 
Gray  left  for  his  trail  again  on  the  Monday  morn- 
ing following  her  arrival  the  thought  that  Bessie 
was  with  "  th'  little  maid  "  gave  him  a  sense  of 
quiet  satisfaction  and  security  that  he  had  not  fek 
when  he  was  away  from  them  earlier  in  the 
winter. 

When  Douglas  Campbell  came  over  one  morn- 
ing a  week  after  Bessie's  arrival  he  found  the 
atmosphere  of  gloom  that  he  had  noticed  on  his 
earlier  visits  had  quite  disappeared.  Mrs.  Gray 
seemed  contented  now,  and  Emily  was  as  happy 
as  could  be. 

Douglas  remained  to  have  dinner  with  them. 
They  had  just  finished  eating  and  he  had  settled 
back  to  have  a  smoke  before  going  home,  admir- 
ing a  new  dress  that  Bessie  had  made  for  Emily's 
doll,  and  talking  to  the  child,  while  Mrs.  Gray 
and  Bessie  cleared  away  the  dishes,  whea  th« 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH         163 

door  opened  and  Ed  Matheson  appeared  on  the 
threshold. 

Ed  stood  in  the  open  door  speechless,  his  face 
haggard  and  drawn,  and  his  tall  thin  form  bent 
slightly  forward  like  a  man  carrying  a  heavy  bur- 
den upon  his  shoulders. 

It  was  not  necessary  for  Ed  to  speak.  The 
moment  Mrs.  Gray  saw  him  she  knew  that  he 
was  the  bearer  of  evil  news.  She  tottered  as 
though  she  would  fall,  then  recovering  herself  she 
extended  her  arms  towards  him  and  cried  in 
agony : 

"  Oh,  my  lad  1  My  lad  1  What  has  happened 
to  my  lad  1 " 

"Bob— Bob"— faltered  Ed,  " th'— wolves— got 
— un." 

He  had  nerved  himself  for  this  moment,  and 
now  the  spell  was  broken  he  sat  down  upon  a 
bench,  and  with  his  elbows  upon  his  knees  and 
his  face  in  his  big  weather-browned  hands,  cried 
like  a  child. 

Emily  lay  white  and  wild-eyed.  She  could  not 
realize  it  all  or  understand  it.  It  seemed  for  a 
moment  as  though  Mrs.  Gray  would  faint,  and 
Bessie,  pale  but  self-possessed,  supported  her  to 
a  seat  and  tried  gently  to  soothe  her. 


166  UNGAVA  BOB 

Douglas,  too,  did  what  he  could  to  comforti 
though  there  was  little  that  he  could  do  or  say  to 
relieve  the  mother's  grief. 

At  first  Mrs.  Gray  simply  moaned,  "  My  lad — 

my  lad — my  lad "  upbraiding  herself  forever 

letting  him  go  away  from  home;  but  finally 
tears — the  blessed  safety-valve  of  grief — came 
and  washed  away  the  first  effects  of  the  shock. 

Then  she  became  quite  calm,  and  insisted 
upon  hearing  every  smallest  detail  of  Ed's  story, 
and  he  related  what  had  happened  step  by  step, 
beginning  with  the  arrival  of  himself  and  Dick 
at  the  river  tilt  on  Christmas  eve  and  the  discov- 
ery that  Bob's  furs  had  been  removed,  and 
passed  on  to  the  finding  of  the  remains  by  the 
big  boulder  in  the  marsh,  Mrs.  Gray  interrupting 
now  and  again  to  ask  a  fuller  explanation  here 
and  there. 

When  Ed  told  of  gathering  up  the  fragments 
of  torn  clothing,  she  asked  to  see  them  at  once. 
Ed  hesitated,  and  Douglas  suggested  that  she 
wait  until  a  later  time  when  her  nerves  were 
steadier;  but  she  was  determined,  and  insisted 
upon  seeing  them  without  delay,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  produce  them.  Contrary  to 
their  expectations,  she  made  no  scene  when  they 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH         167 

were  placed  before  her,  and  though  her  hand 
trembled  a  little  was  quite  collected  as  she  took 
up  the  blood-stained  pieces  of  doth  and  examined 
them  critically  one  by  one.  Finally  she  raised 
her  head  and  announced  : 

"  None  o'  them  were  ever  a  part  o'  Bob's 
clothes." 

"  Whose  now  may  un  be  if  not  Bob's  ?  "  asked 
Ed,  sceptical  of  her  decision. 

"  None  of  un  were  Botf  s.  I  were  makin1  all  o' 
Bob's  clothes,  an' — I — knows:  I  knows"  she  in- 
sisted. 

"  But  th'  flat  sled  were  Bob's,  an'  th'  tent  an* 
other  things,"  said  Ed. 

"  Th'  clothes  were  not  Bob's — an'  Bob  were  not 
killed  by  wolves — my  lad  is  livin' — somewheres 
— I  feels  my  lad  is  livin',"  she  asserted. 

Then  Ed  told  of  the  two  axes  found — one  on 
the  toboggan  and  the  other  on  the  snow — and 
Mrs.  Gray  raised  another  question. 

"  Why,"  she  asked,  "  had  he  two  axes  ?  " 

It  was  explained  that  he  had  probably  taken 
one  in  on  a  previous  trip  and  cached  it.  But 
she  argued  that  if  he  needed  an  axe  going  in  on 
the  previous  trip  he  must  have  needed  it  coming 
out  too,  and  it  was  not  likely  that  he  would  have 


168  UNGAVA  BOB 

cached  it  Besides,  she  was  quite  sure  that  he 
had  but  one  axe  with  him  in  the  bush,  as  there 
was  no  extra  axe  for  him  to  take  when  he  was 
leaving  home ;  and  Douglas  said  that  when  he 
left  the  trail  at  the  close  of  the  previous  season 
he  had  left  no  axe  in  any  of  the  tilts. 

"  Richard  '11  know  un  when  he  comes,"  said 
she.  "  Richard'll  know  Bob's  axe." 

The  mother  was  still  more  positive  now  that 
the  remains  they  had  found  were  not  Bob's  re- 
mains, and  Ed  and  Douglas,  though  equally  pos- 
itive that  she  was  mistaken,  let  her  hold  the  hope 
— or  rather  belief — that  Bob  still  lived.  She  as- 
serted that  he  was  alive  as  one  states  a  fact  that 
one  knows  is  beyond  question.  The  circumstan- 
tial evidence  against  her  theory  was  strong,  but 
a  woman's  intuition  stands  not  for  reason,  and 
her  conclusions  she  will  hold  against  the  world. 

"  I  must  be  takin'  th'  word  in  t'  Richard  though 
tis  a  sore  trial  t'  do  it,"  said  Douglas,  preparing 
at  once  to  go.  "  I'll  be  findin'  un  on  th'  trail. 
Keep  courage,  Mary,  until  we  comes.  'Twill  be 
but  four  days  at  furthest,"  he  added  as  he  was 
going  out  of  the  door. 

Ed  left  immediately  after  for  his  home,  to 
spend  a  day  or  two  before  returning  to  his  in- 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH         169 

land  trail,  and  Mrs.  Gray  and  Emily  and  Bessie 
were  left  alone  again  in  a  gloom  of  sorrow  that 
approached  despair. 

That  night  long  after  the  light  was  out  and 
they  had  gone  to  bed,  Mrs.  Gray,  who  was  still 
lying  awake  with  her  trouble,  heard  Emily  softly 
speak: 

"  Mother." 

She  stole  over  to  Emily's  couch  and  kissed  the 
child's  cheek. 

"  Mother,  an'  th'  wolves  killed  Bob,  won't  he 
be  an  angel  now  ?  " 

"Bob's  livin' — somewheres — child,  an'  I'm 
prayin'  th'  Lard  hi  His  mercy  t'  care  of  th'  lad. 
Th'  Lard  knows  where  un  is,  lass,  an'  th'  Lard'll 
sure  not  be  forgettin'  he." 

"  But,"  she  insisted,  "  he's  an  angel  now  if  th' 
wolves  killed  un  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  An'  th'  Lard  lets  angels  come  sometimes  t? 
see  th'  ones  they  loves,  don't  He,  mother?" 

"  Be  quiet  now,  lass." 

-  But  He  does  ?  "  persisted  the  child. 

"Aye,  He  does." 

"  Then  if  Bob  were  killed,  mother,  he'll  sure  be 
oomin'  t'  see  us.  His  angel'd  never  be  restiri 


170  UNGAVA  BOB 

easy  in  heaven  wi'out  comin*  t'  see  us,  for  he 
knows  how  sore  we  longs  t'  see  un." 

The  mother  drew  the  child  to  her  heart  and 
sobbed. 


'It  was  dangerous  work 


XV 

IN  THE  WIGWAM  OF  SISHETAKUSHIN 

DAY  after  day  the  Indians  travelled  to  the 
northward,  drawing  their  goods  after 
them  on  toboggans,  over  frozen  rivers 
and  lakes,  or  through  an  ever  scantier  growth  of 
trees.  With  every  mile  they  traversed  Bob's 
heart  grew  heavier  in  his  bosom,  for  he  was  con- 
stantly going  farther  from  home,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  return  was  fading  away  with  each  sunset 
He  knew  that  they  were  moving  northward,  for 
always  the  North  Star  lay  before  them  when 
they  halted  for  the  night,  and  always  a  wilder, 
more  unnatural  country  surrounded  them. 
Finally  a  westerly  turn  was  taken,  and  he  won- 
dered what  their  goal  might  be. 

Cold  and  bitter  was  the  weather.  The  great 
limitless  wilderness  was  frozen  into  a  deathlike 
silence,  and  solemn  and  awful  was  the  vast  ex- 
panse of  white  that  lay  everywhere  around  them. 
They,  they  alone,  it  seemed,  lived  in  all  the 
dreary  world.  The  icy  hand  of  January  had 
crushed  all  other  creatures  into  oblivion.  No 


172  UNGAVA  BOB 

deer,  no  animals  of  any  kind  crossed  their  trait 
Their  food  was  going  rapidly,  and  they  were 
now  reduced  to  a  scanty  ration  of  jerked  venison. 

At  last  they  halted  one  day  by  the  side  of  a 
brook  and  pitched  their  wigwam.  Then  leaving 
the  women  to  cut  wood  and  put  the  camp  in  or- 
der, the  two  Indians  shouldered  their  guns  and 
axes,  and  made  signs  to  Bob  to  follow  them, 
which  he  gladly  did. 

They  ascended  the  frozen  stream  for  several 
miles,  when  suddenly  they  came  upon  a  beaver 
dam  and  the  dome-shaped  house  of  the  animals 
themselves,  nearly  hidden  under  the  deep  cover- 
ing of  snow.  The  house  had  apparently  been 
located  earlier  in  the  season,  for  now  the  Indians 
went  directly  to  it  as  a  place  they  were  familiar 
with. 

Here  they  began  at  once  to  clear  away  the 
enow  from  the  ice  at  one  side  of  the  house,  using 
their  snow-shoes  as  shovels.  When  this  was 
done,  a  pole  was  cut,  and  to  the  end  of  the  pole 
a  long  iron  spike  was  fastened.  With  this  im- 
provised implement  Sishetakushin  began  to  pick 
away  the  ice  where  the  snow  had  been  cleared 
from  it,  while  Mookoomahn  cut  more  poles. 

Though    the    ice    was    fully  four  feet  thick 


WIGWAM  OF  SISHETAKUSHIN     173 

Sishetakushin  soon  reached  the  water.  Then 
the  other  poles  that  Mookoomahn  had  cut  were 
driven  in  close  to  the  house. 

Bob  understood  that  this  was  done  to  prevent 
the  escape  of  the  animals,  and  that  they  were 
closing  the  door,  which  was  situated  so  far  down 
that  it  would  always  be  below  the  point  where 
ice  would  form,  so  that  the  beavers  could  go  ia 
and  out  at  will. 

After  these  preparations  were  completed  the 
Indians  cleared  the  snow  from  the  top  of  the 
beaver  house,  and  then  broke  an  opening  into 
the  house  itself.  Into  this  aperture  Sishetakushin 
peered  for  a  moment,  then  his  hand  shot  down, 
and  like  a  flash  reappeared  holding  a  beaver  by 
the  hind  legs,  and  before  the  animal  had  recov- 
ered sufficiently  from  its  surprise  to  bring  its 
sharp  teeth  into  action  in  self-defense,  the  Indian 
struck  it  a  stinging  blow  over  the  head  and  killed 
it.  Then  in  like  manner  another  animal  was 
captured  and  killed.  It  was  dangerous  work 
and  called  for  agility  and  self-possession,  for  had 
the  Indian  made  a  miscalculation  or  been  one 
second  too  slow  the  beaver's  teeth,  which  crush 
as  well  as  cut;  would  have  severed  his  wrist  Of 
arm. 


174  UNGAVA  BOB 

There  were  two  more  beavers — a  male  and  a 
female — in  the  house,  but  these  were  left  undis- 
turbed to  raise  a  new  family,  and  the  stakes  that 
had  closed  the  door  were  removed. 

This  method  of  catching  beavers  was  quite 
new  to  Bob,  who  had  always  seen  his  father  and 
the  other  hunters  of  the  Bay  capture  them  in 
steel  traps.  It  was  his  first  lesson  in  the  Indian 
method  of  hunting. 

That  evening  the  flesh  of  the  beavers  went 
into  the  kettle,  and  their  oily  tails — the  greatest 
tidbit  of  all — were  fried  in  a  pan.  The  Indians 
made  a  feast  time  of  it,  and  never  ceased  eating 
the  livelong  night.  This  day  of  plenty  came  in 
cheerful  contrast  to  the  cheerless  nights  with 
scanty  suppers  following  the  weary  days  of  plod- 
ding that  had  preceded.  The  glowing  fire  in 
the  centre,  the  appetizing  smell  of  the  kettle  and 
sizzling  fat  in  the  pan,  and  the  relaxation  and 
mellow  warmth  as  they  reclined  upon  the  boughs 
brought  a  sense  of  real  comfort  and  content. 

The  next  day  they  remained  in  camp  and 
rested,  but  the  following  morning  resumed  the 
dreary  march  to  the  westward. 

After  many  more  days  of  travelling — Bob  had 
lost  all  measure  of  time — they  reached  the  shores 


WIGWAM  OF  SISHETAKUSHIN     175 

of  a  great  lake  that  stretched  away  until  in  the 
far  distance  its  smooth  white  surface  and  the  sky 
were  joined.  The  Indians  pointed  at  the  ex- 
panse of  snow-covered  ice,  and  repeated  many 
times,  "  Petitsikapau — Petitsikapau,"  and  Bob 
decided  that  this  must  be  what  they  called  the 
lake ;  but  the  name  was  wholly  unfamiliar  to 
him.  In  like  manner  they  had  indicated  that  a 
river  they  had  travelled  upon  for  some  distance 
farther  back,  after  crossing  a  smaller  lake,  was 
called  "  Ashuanipi,"  but  he  had  never  heard  of  it 
before. 

The  wigwam  was  pitched  upon  the  shores  of 
Petitsikapau  Lake,  where  there  was  a  thick 
growth  of  willows  upon  the  tender  tops  of 
which  hundreds  of  ptarmigans — the  snow-white 
grouse  of  the  arctic — were  feeding ;  and  rabbits 
had  the  snow  tramped  flat  amongst  the  under- 
brush, offering  an  abundance  of  fresh  food  to 
the  hunters,  a  welcome  change  from  the  un- 
varied fare  of  dried  venison. 

Bob  drew  from  the  elaborate  preparations  that 
were  made  that  they  were  to  stop  here  for  a  con- 
siderable time.  Snow  was  banked  high  against 
the  skin  covering  of  the  wigwam  to  keep  out 
the  wind  more  effectually,  an  unusually  thick 


ty6  UNGAVA  BOB 

bed  of  spruce  boughs  was  spread  within,  and  a 
good  supply  of  wood  was  cut  and  neatly  piled 
outside. 

The  women  did  all  the  heavy  work  and 
drudgery  about  camp,  and  it  troubled  Bob  not  a 
little  to  see  them  working  while  the  men  were 
idle.  Several  times  he  attempted  to  help  them, 
but  his  efforts  were  met  with  such  a  storm  of 
protestations  and  disapproval,  not  only  from  the 
men,  but  the  women  also,  that  he  finally  re- 
frained. 

"  'Tis  strange  now  th'  women  isn't  wantin'  t 
be  helped,"  Bob  remarked  to  himself.  "  Mother's 
always  likin'  t'  have  me  help  she." 

It  was  quite  evident  that  the  men  considered 
this  camp  work  beneath  their  dignity  as  hunters, 
and  neither  did  they  wish  Bob,  to  whom  they 
had  apparently  taken  a  great  fancy,  to  do  the 
work  of  a  squaw.  They  had,  to  all  appearances, 
accepted  him  as  one  of  the  family  and  treated 
him  in  all  respects  as  such,  and,  he  noted,  this 
with  growing  apprehension,  as  though  he  were 
always  to  remain  with  them. 

They  began  now  to  initiate  him  into  the  mys 
teries  of  their  trapping  methods,  which  were 
quite  different  from  those  with  which  he  was  ao 


WIGWAM  OF  SISHETAKUSHIN     177 

customed.  Instead  of  the  steel  trap  they  used 
the  deadfall — wa-nee-gan — and  the  snare — nug- 
wah-gun — and  Bob  won  the  quick  commenda- 
tion and  plainly  shown  admiration  of  the  Indians 
by  the  facility  with  which  he  learned  to  make 
and  use  them,  and  his  prompt  success  in  captur- 
ing his  fair  share  of  martens,  which  were  fairly 
numerous  in  the  woods  back  of  the  lake. 

But  when  he  took  his  gun  and  shot  some 
ptarmigans  one  day,  they  gave  him  to  under- 
stand that  this  was  a  wasteful  use  of  ammuni- 
tion, and  showed  him  how  they  killed  the  birds 
with  bow  and  arrow.  To  shoot  the  arrows 
straight,  however,  was  an  art  that  he  could  not 
acquire  readily,  and  his  efforts  afforded  Sishe- 
takushin  and  Mookoomahn  much  amusement. 

"  The's  no  shootin'  straight  wi'  them  things," 
Bob  declared  to  himself,  after  several  unsuccess- 
ful attempts  to  hit  a  ptarmigan.  "  Leastways 
I'm  not  knowin'  how.  But  th'  Injuns  is  shootin' 
un  fine,  an*  I'm  wonderin'  now  how  they  does 
un." 

With  no  one  that  could  understand  him  Bob 
had  unconsciously  dropped  into  the  habit  of 
talking  a  great  deal  to  himself.  It  was  not  very 
satisfactory,  however,  and  there  were  always 


178  UNGAVA  BOB 

questions  arising  that  he  wished  to  ask.  He 
had,  therefore,  devoted  himself  since  his  advent 
amongst  the  Indians  to  learning  their  language, 
and  every  day  he  acquired  new  words  and 
phrases.  Manikawan  would  pronounce  the 
names  of  objects  for  him  and  have  him  repeat 
them  after  her  until  he  could  speak  them  cor- 
rectly, laughing  merrily  at  his  blunders. 

It  does  not  require  a  large  vocabulary  to  make 
oneself  understood,  and  in  an  indescribably 
short  time  Bob  had  picked  up  enough  Indian  to 
converse  brokenly,  and  one  day,  shortly  after  the 
arrival  at  Petitsikapau  he  found  he  was  able  to 
explain  to  Sishetakushin  where  he  came  from 
and  his  desire  to  return  to  the  Big  Hill  trail  and 
the  Grand  River  country. 

"  It  is  not  good  to  dwell  on  the  great  river  of 
the  evil  spirits  "  (the  Grand  River),  said  the  In- 
dian. "Be  contented  in  the  wigwam  of  your 
brothers." 

Bob  parleyed  and  plead  with  them,  and  when 
he  finally  insisted  that  they  take  him  back  to  the 
place  where  they  had  found  him,  he  was  met 
with  the  objection  that  it  was  "  many  sleeps 
towards  the  rising  sun,"  that  the  deer  had  left  the 
land  as  he  had  seen  for  himself,  and  if  they 


WJGWAM  OF  SISHETAKUSHIN    179 

turned  back  their  kettle  would  have  no  flesh  and 
their  stomachs  would  be  empty. 

"  We  are  going,"  said  Sishetakushin,  "  where 
the  deer  shall  be  found  like  the  trees  of  the 
forest,  and  there  our  brother  shall  feast  and  be 
happy." 

So  Bob's  last  hope  of  reaching  home  vanished. 

Manikawan's  kindness  towards  him  grew,  and 
she  was  most  attentive  to  his  comfort  She 
gave  him  the  first  helping  of  "  nab-wi " — stew — 
from  the  kettle,  and  kept  his  clothing  in  good 
repair.  His  old  moccasins  she  replaced  with 
new  ones  fancifully  decorated  with  beads,  and 
his  much-worn  duffel  socks  with  warm  ones 
made  of  rabbit  skins.  Everything  that  the  wil- 
derness provided  he  had  from  her  hand.  But 
still  he  was  not  happy.  There  was  an  always 
present  longing  for  the  loved  ones  in  the  little 
cabin  at  Wolf  Bight.  He  never  could  get  out 
of  his  mind  his  mother's  sad  face  on  the  morn- 
ing he  left  her,  dear  patient  little  Emily  on  her 
couch,  and  his  father,  who  needed  his  help  so 
much,  working  alone  about  the  house  or  on  the 
trail.  And  sometimes  he  wondered  if  Bessie 
ever  thought  of  him,  and  if  she  would  be  sorry 
when  she  heard  he  was  lost. 


i8o  UNGAVA  BOB 

"  Manikawan  an'  all  th'  Injuns  be  wonderful 
kind,  but  'tis  not  like  bein'  home,"  he  would  often 
say  sadly  to  himself  when  he  lay  very  lonely  at 
night  upon  his  bed  of  boughs  and  skins. 

At  first  Manikawan's  attentions  were  rather 
agreeable  to  Bob,  but  he  was  not  accustomed  to 
being  waited  upon,  and  in  a  little  while  they  be- 
gan to  annoy  him  and  make  him  feel  ill  at  ease, 
and  finally  to  escape  from  them  he  rarely  ever 
remained  in  the  wigwam  during  daylight  hours. 

"  I'm  wishin'  she'd  not  be  troublin'  wi'  me  so 
— I'm  not  wantin*  un,"  he  declared  almost  petu- 
lantly at  times  when  the  girl  did  something  for 
him  that  he  preferred  to  do  himself. 

Mornings  he  would  wander  down  through  rhe 
valley  attending  to  his  deadfalls  and  snares,  and 
afternoons  tramp  over  the  hills  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  caribou. 

One  afternoon  two  weeks  after  the  arrival  at 
Petitsikapau  he  was  skirting  a  precipitous  hill 
not  far  from  camp,  when  suddenly  the  snow  gave 
way  under  his  feet  and  he  slipped  over  a  low 
ledge.  He  did  not  fall  far,  and  struck  a  soft 
drift  below,  and  though  startled  at  the  unex- 
pected descent  was  not  injured.  When  he  got 
upon  his  feet  again  he  noticed  what  seemed  a 


WIGWAM  OF  SISHETAKUSHIN     181 

rather  peculiar  opening  in  the  rock  near  the  foot 
of  the  ledge,  where  his  fall  had  broken  away  the 
snow,  and  upon  examining  it  found  that  the  crev- 
ice extended  back  some  eight  or  ten  feet  and 
then  broadened  into  a  sort  of  cavern. 

"  'Tis  a  strange  place  t'  be  in  th'  rocks,"  he 
commented.  "  I'm  thinkin'  I'll  have  a  look  at 
un." 

Kicking  off  his  snow-shoes  and  standing  his 
gun  outside  he  proceeded  to  crawl  in  on  all 
fours.  When  he  reached  the  point  of  broaden- 
ing he  found  the  cavern  within  so  dark  that  he 
could  see  nothing  of  its  interior,  and  he  advanced 
cautiously,  extending  one  arm  in  front  of  him 
that  he  might  not  strike  his  head  against  pro- 
truding rocks.  All  at  once  his  hand  came  in 
contact  with  something  soft  and  warm.  He  drew 
it  back  with  a  jerk,  and  his  heart  stood  still.  He 
had  touched  the  shaggy  coat  of  a  bear.  He  was 
in  a  bear's  den  and  within  two  feet  of  the  sleep- 
ing animal.  He  expected  the  next  moment  to 
be  crushed  under  the  paws  of  the  angry  beast, 
and  was  quite  astonished  when  he  found  that  it 
had  not  been  aroused. 

Cautiously  and  noiselessly  Bob  backed  quickly 
out  of  the  dangerous  place.  The  moment  he 


182  UNGAVA  BOB 

was  out  and  found  himself  on  his  feet  again  with 
his  gun  in  his  hands  his  courage  returned,  and 
he  began  to  make  plans  for  the  capture  of  the 
animal. 

"  'Twould  be  fine  now  t'  kill  un  an'  'twould 
please  th'  Injuns  wonderful  t'  get  th'  meat,"  he 
said.  "  I'm  wonderin'  could  I  get  un — if  'tis  a 
bear." 

He  stooped  and  looked  into  the  cave  again, 
but  it  was  as  dark  as  night  in  there,  and  he  could 
see  nothing  of  the  bear.  Then  he  cut  a  long 
pole  with  his  knife  and  reached  in  with  it  until  he 
felt  the  soft  body.  A  strong  prod  brought  forth 
a  protesting  growl.  Bruin  did  not  like  to  have 
his  slumbers  disturbed. 

"  Sure  'tis  a  bear  an'  that's  wakenin'  un,"  he 
commented. 

Bob  prodded  harder  and  the  growls  grew 
louder  and  angrier. 

"  He's  not  wantin'  t'  get  out  o*  bed,"  said  Bob 
prodding  vigorously. 

Finally  there  was  a  movement  within  the  den, 
and  Bob  sprang  back  and  made  ready  with  his 
gun.  He  had  barely  time  to  get  into  position 
when  the  head  of  an  enormous  black  bear  ap- 
peared in  the  cave  entrance,  its  eyes  flashing  fire 


WIGWAM  OF  SISHETAKUSHIN     183 

and  showing  fight  Bob's  heart  beat  excitedly, 
but  he  kept  his  nerve  and  took  a  steady  aim.  The 
animal  was  not  six  feet  away  from  him  when  he 
fired.  Then  he  turned  and  ran  down  the  hill, 
never  looking  behind  until  he  was  fully  two  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  den  and  realized  that  there 
was  no  sound  in  the  rear. 

The  bear  was  not  in  sight  and  he  cautiously 
retraced  his  steps  until  he  saw  the  animal  lying 
where  it  had  fallen.  The  bullet  had  taken  it 
squarely  between  the  eyes  and  killed  it  instantly. 
This  was  the  first  bear  that  Bob  had  ever  killed 
unaided  and  he  was  highly  elated  at  his  suc- 
cess. 

It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  get  the  carcass  out 
of  the  rock  crevice,  but  he  finally  accomplished 
it  and  outside  quickly  skinned  the  bear  and  cut 
the  meat  into  pieces  of  convenient  size  to  haul 
away  on  a  toboggan  when  he  should  return  for 
it.  Then,  with  the  skin  as  a  trophy,  he  trium- 
phantly turned  towards  camp. 

Night  had  fallen  when  he  reached  the  wigwam 
and  Sishetakushin  and  Mookoomahn  had  al- 
ready arrived  after  their  day's  hunt.  It  was  a 
proud  moment  for  Bob  when  he  entered  the 
lodge  and  threw  down  the  bear  skin  for  their  in- 


184  UNGAVA  BOB 

Bpection.  They  spread  it  out  and  examined  it, 
and  a  great  deal  of  talking  ensued.  Bob,  in  the 
best  Indian  he  could  command,  explained  where 
he  had  found  the  "  mushku  "  and  how  he  had 
killed  it,  and  his  story  was  listened  to  with  intense 
interest  When  he  was  through  Sishetakushin 
said  that  the  "  Snow  Brother,"  as  they  called  Bob, 
was  a  great  hunter,  and  should  be  an  Indian ; 
for  only  an  Indian  would  have  the  courage  to  at- 
tack a  bear  in  its  den  single  handed.  Bob  had 
risen  very  perceptibly  in  their  estimation.  All 
doubt  of  his  skill  and  prowess  as  a  hunter  had 
been  removed.  He  had  won  a  new  place,  and 
was  now  to  be  considered  as  their  equal  in  the 
chase. 

The  following  morning  the  two  Indians  as- 
sisted Bob  to  haul  the  bear's  meat  to  camp.  No 
part  of  it  was  allowed  to  waste.  In  the  wigwam 
it  was  thawed  and  then  the  flesh  stripped  from 
the  bones,  and  that  not  required  for  immediate 
use  was  permitted  to  freeze  again  that  it  might 
keep  sweet  until  needed.  The  skull  was 
thoroughly  cleaned  and  fastened  to  a  high  branch 
of  a  tree  as  an  offering  to  the  Manitou.  Sishe- 
takushin explained  to  Bob  that  unless  this  was 
done  the  Great  Spirit  would  punish  them  by 


WIGWAM  OF  SISHETAKUSHIN     185 

driving  all  other  bears  beyond  the  reach  of  their 
guns  and  traps  in  future. 

For  several  days  a  storm  had  been  threatening, 
and  that  night  it  broke  with  all  the  terrifying  tury 
of  the  north.  The  wind  shrieked  through  the 
forest  and  shook  the  wigwam  as  though  it  would 
tear  it  away.  The  air  was  filled  with  a  swirling, 
blinding  mass  of  snow  and  any  one  venturing  a 
dozen  paces  from  the  lodge  could  hardly  have 
found  his  way  back  to  it  again.  For  three  days 
the  storm  lasted,  and  the  Indians  turned  these 
three  days  into  a  period  of  feasting.  A  big  ket- 
tle of  bear's  meat  always  hung  over  the  fire,  and 
surrounding  it  pieces  of  the  meat  were  impaled 
upon  sticks  to  roast.  It  seemed  to  Bob  as  though 
the  Indians  would  never  have  enough  to  eat 

Finally  the  storm  cleared,  and  then  it  was  dis- 
covered that  the  ptarmigans  and  rabbits,  which 
had  been  so  plentiful  and  constituted  their  chief 
source  of  food  supply,  had  disappeared  as  if  by 
magic.  Not  a  ptarmigan  fluttered  before  the 
hunter,  and  no  rabbit  tracks  broke  the  smooth 
white  snow  beneath  the  bushes. 

The  jerked  venison  was  gone  and  the  only  food 
remaining  was  the  bear  meat.  A  hurried  consul- 
tation  was  hdd,  and  it  was  decided  to  push  on  still 


186  UNGAVA  BOB 

farther  to  the  northward  in  the  hope  of  meeting 
the  invisible  herds  of  caribou  that  somewhere  In 
those  limitless,  frozen  barrens  were  wandering 
unmolested 


ONE  OF  THE  TRIBE 

IF  Bob  Gray  had  held  any  secret  hope  thai 
the  Indians  would  eventually  listen  to  his 
plea  to  guide  him  back  to  the  Big  Hill  trail 
it  was  mercilessly  swept  away  by  the  next  move, 
for  again  they  faced  steadily  towards  the  north. 
Whenever  he  thought  of  home  a  lump  came  into 
his  throat,  but  he  always  swallowed  it  bravely 
and  said  to  himself : 

"  'Tis  wrong  now  t'  be  grievin'  when  I  has  so 
much  t'  be  thankful  for.  Bill'll  be  takin'  th'  silver 
fox  an'  other  fur  out,  and  when  father  sells  un 
'twill  pay  for  Emily's  goin'  t'  th'  doctor.  Th' 
Lard  saved  me  from  freezin',  an'  I'm  well  an'  th' 
Injuns  be  wonderful  good  t'  me.  Maybe  some 
time  they'll  be  goin'  back  th'  Big  Hill  way — 
maybe  'twill  be  next  winter — an'  then  I'll  be 
gettin'  home." 

In  this  manner  the  hope  of  youth  always  con- 
quered, and  his  desperate  situation  was  to  some 
extent  forgotten  in  the  pictures  he  drew  for  him- 
iff 


188  UNGAVA  BOB 

self  of  his  reunion  with  the  loved  ones  in  the 
uncertain  "  Sometime  "  of  the  future. 

On  and  on  they  travelled  through  the  endless, 
boundless  white,  over  wind-swept  rocky  hills  so 
inhospitably  barren  that  even  the  snow  could  not 
find  a  lodgment  on  them,  or  over  wide  plains 
where  the  few  trees  that  grew  had  been  stunted 
and  gnarled  into  mere  shrubs  by  winter  blasts. 
On  every  hand  the  mountains  began  to  raise 
their  ragged  austere  heads  like  grim  giant  sen- 
tinels placed  there  to  guard  the  way.  Finally 
they  turned  into  a  pass,  which  brought  them,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  ridge  it  led  through,  to  a 
comparatively  well-wooded  valley  down  which  a 
wide  river  wound  its  way  northward.  The  trees 
were  larger  than  any  Bob  had  seen  since  leaving 
the  Big  Hill  trail,  and  this  new  valley  seemed  al- 
most familiar  to  him. 

As  they  emerged  from  the  pass  a  wolf  cry: 
long  and  weird,  came  from  a  distant  mountain- 
side and  broke  the  wilderness  stillness,  which 
had  become  almost  insufferable,  and  to  the  lad 
even  this  wild  cry  held  a  note  of  companionship 
that  was  pleasant  to  hear  after  the  long  and  death- 
like quiet  that  had  prevailed. 

They  took  to  the  river  ice  and  travelled  on  it  fos 


ONE  OF  THE  TRIBE  189 

several  miles  when,  rounding  a  bend,  they  sud- 
denly came  upon  a  cluster  of  half  a  dozen  deer- 
skin wigwams  standing  in  the  spruce  trees  just 
above  the  river  bank.  An  Indian  from  one  of  the 
lodges  discovered  their  approach,  and  gave  a 
shout.  Instantly  men,  women  and  children  sprang 
into  view  and  came  running  out  to  welcome  them. 
It  was  a  curious,  medley  crowd.  The  men  were 
clad  in  long,  decorated  deerskin  coats  such  as 
Sishetakushin  and  Mookoomahn  wore,  and  the 
women  in  deerskin  skirts  reaching  a  little  way 
below  t3ie  knees,  and  all  wearing  the  fringed 
buckskin  leggings. 

The  greeting  was  cordial  and  noisy,  everybody 
shaking  hands  with  the  new  arrivals,  talking  in 
the  high  key  characteristic  of  them,  and  laughing 
a  great  deal.  Two  of  the  men  embraced  Sishe- 
takushin and  Mookoomahn  and  shed  copious 
tears  of  joy  over  them.  These  two  men  it  ap- 
peared were  Mookoomahn's  brothers.  The 
women  were  not  so  demonstrative,  but  showed 
their  delight  in  a  ceaseless  flow  of  words. 

When  the  first  greetings  were  over  Sishetaku- 
shin told  the  assembled  Indians  how  Bob  had 
been  found  sleeping  in  the  snow,  and  that  the 
Great  Spirit  had  sent  the  White  Snow  Brother 


190  UNGAVA  BOB 

to  dwell  in  their  lodges  as  one  of  them.  After 
this  introduction  and  a  rather  magnified  descrip- 
tion of  his  accomplishments  as  a  hunter  they  all 
shook  Bob's  hand  and  welcomed  him  as  one  of 
the  tribe. 

A  few  caribou  had  been  killed,  and  the  travel- 
lers received  gifts  of  the  frozen  meat  with  a  good 
proportion  of  fat,  and  that  night  a  great  feast 
was  held  in  their  behalf. 

With  plenty  to  eat  there  was  no  occasion  to 
hunt  and  the  Indians  were  living  in  idleness  dur- 
ing the  intensely  cold  months  of  January  and 
February,  rarely  venturing  out  of  the  wigwams. 
This  was  not  only  for  their  comfort,  but  be- 
cause the  fur  bearing  animals  lie  quiet  during 
this  cold  period  of  the  winter  and  the  hunt  would 
therefore  yield  small  reward  for  the  exposure  and 
suffering  it  would  entail. 

They  had  an  abundance  of  tobacco  and  tea. 
Sishetakushin  and  his  family  had  been  without 
these  luxuries,  and  it  seemed  to  Bob  that  he  had 
never  tasted  anything  half  so  delicious  as  the 
first  cup  of  tea  he  drank.  His  Indian  friends 
could  not  understand  at  first  his  refusal  of  their 
proffered  gifts  of  "  stemmo  " — tobacco— but  he 
told  them  finally  that  it  would  make  him  sick* 


ONE  OF  THE  TRIBE  191 

and  then  they  accepted  his  excuse  and  laughed 
at  him  good  naturedly. 

Manikawan  had  never  ceased  her  attentions  to 
Bob,  and  the  others  of  her  family  seemed  to 
have  come  to  an  understanding  that  it  was 
her  especial  duty  to  look  after  his  comfort. 
From  the  first  she  had  been  much  troubled  that 
he  had  only  his  cloth  adikey  instead  of  a  deer- 
skin coat  such  as  her  father  and  Mookoomahn 
wore,  and  she  often  expressed  her  regret  that 
there  was  no  deerskin  with  which  to  make  him 
one.  He  insisted  at  these  times  that  his  adikey 
was  quite  warm  enough,  but  she  always  shook 
her  head  in  dissent,  for  she  could  not  believe  it, 
and  would  say, 

"  No,  the  Snow  Brother  is  cold.  Manikawan 
will  make  him  warm  clothes  when  the  deer  are 
found." 

On  the  very  night  of  their  arrival  at  the  camp 
she  went  amongst  the  wigwams  and  begged 
from  the  women  some  skins  of  the  fall  killing, 
tanned  with  the  hair  on,  with  the  flesh  side  as 
fine  and  white  and  soft  as  chamois.  In  two  days 
she  had  manufactured  these  into  a  coat  and  had 
it  ready  for  decoration.  It  was  a  very  handsome 
garment,  sewn  with  sinew  instead  of  thread,  and 


192  UNGAVA  BOB 

having  a  hood  attached  to  it  similar  to  the  hoods 
worn  by  Sishetakushin  and  Mookoomahn. 

With  brushes  made  from  pointed  sticks  she 
painted  around  the  bottom  of  the  coat  a 
foot-wide  border  in  intricate  design,  introducing 
red,  blue,  brown  and  yellow  colours  that  she  had 
compounded  herself  the  previous  summer  from 
fish  roe,  minerals  and  oil.  Other  decorations  and 
ornamentations  were  drawn  upon  the  front  and 
arms  of  the  garment  before  she  considered  it 
quite  complete.  Then  she  surveyed  her  work 
with  commendable  pride,  and  with  a  great  show 
of  satisfaction  presented  it  and  a  pair  of  the 
regulation  buckskin  leggings  to  Bob.  She  was 
quite  delighted  when  he  put  his  new  clothes  on, 
and  made  no  secret  of  her  admiration  of  his  im- 
proved appearance. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  the  brother  is  dressed  as 
becomes  him  and  looks  very  fine  and  brave." 

"  'Tis  fine  an*  warm,"  Bob  assented,  "  an'  I'm 
thinkin*  I'm  lookin'  like  an  Iniun  sure  enough." 

Bob's  aversion  to  Manikawan-a  attentions 
was  wearing  off,  and  he  was  taking  a  new  inter- 
est in  her.  He  very  often  found  himself  looking 
at  her  and  admiring  her  dark,  pretty  face  and 
tall,  supple  form.  Sometimes  she  would  glance 


ONE  OF  THE  TRIBE  193 

up  quickly  and  catch  him  at  it,  and  smile,  for  it 
pleased  her.  Then  he  would  feel  a  bit  foolish 
and  blush  through  the  tan  on  his  face ;  for  he 
knew  that  she  read  his  thoughts.  But  neither  he 
nor  Manikawan  ever  voiced  the  admiration  that 
they  felt  for  each  other. 

Bob  was  lounging  in  the  wigwam  one  day  a 
week  or  so  after  the  arrival  at  the  camp  when  he 
heard  some  one  excitedly  shouting, 

"  Atuk  1  Atuk  !  " 

He  grabbed  his  gun  and  ran  outside  where  he 
met  Sishetakushin  rushing  in  from  an  adjoining 
wigwam.  The  Indian  called  to  him  to  leave  his 
gun  behind  and  get  a  spear  and  follow.  He 
could  see  that  something  of  great  moment  had 
occurred  and  he  obeyed. 

The  Indians  from  the  lodges,  all  armed  with 
spears,  were  running  towards  a  knoll  just  below 
the  camp,  and  Bob  and  Sishetakushin  and 
Mookoomahn  joined  them.  When  they  reached 
the  top  of  the  knoll  Bob  halted  for  a  moment  in 
astonishment  Never  before  had  he  beheld  any- 
thing  to  compare  with  what  he  saw  below.  A 
herd  of  caribou  containing  hundreds — yes  thou- 
sands— like  a  great  living  sea,  was  moving  to  the 
eastward. 


194  UNGAVA  BOB 

Some  of  the  Indians  were  already  running 
ahead  on  their  snow-shoes  to  turn  the  animals 
into  the  deep  snowdrifts  of  a  ravine,  while  the 
other  attacked  the  herd  with  their  spears  from 
the  side.  The  caribou  changed  their  course 
when  they  saw  their  enemies,  and  plunged  into 
the  ravine,  those  behind  crowding  those  in  front, 
which  sank  into  the  drifts  until  they  were  quite 
helpless.  From  every  side  the  Indians  rushed 
upon  the  deer  and  the  slaughter  began.  Bob 
was  carried  away  with  the  excitement  of  the 
hunt,  and  many  of  the  deer  fell  beneath  his  spear 
thrusts.  The  killing  went  on  blindly,  indiscrimi- 
nately, without  regard  to  the  age  or  sex  or  num- 
ber killed,  until  finally  the  main  herd  extricated 
itself  and  ran  in  wild  panic  over  the  river  ice  and 
out  of  reach  of  the  pursuers. 

In  the  brief  interval  between  the  discovery  of 
the  deer  and  the  escape  of  the  herd  over  four 
hundred  animals  had  fallen  under  the  ruthless 
spears.  When  Bob  realized  the  extent  of  the 
wicked  slaughter  he  was  disgusted  with  himself 
for  having  taken  part  in  it. 

"'Twas  wicked  t'  kill  so  many  of  un  wlien 
we're  not  needin'  un,  an*  I  hopes  th'  Lard'll  for- 
give me  for  helping"  he  said  contritely. 


'Saw  her  standing  in  the  bright  moonlight' 


ONE  OF  THE  TRIBE  195 

Aside  from  the  inhumanity  of  the  thing,  it  was 
a  terrible  waste  of  food,  for  it  would  only  be  pos- 
sible to  utilize  a  comparatively  small  proportion 
of  the  meat  of  the  slaughtered  animals.  Perhaps 
seventy-five  of  the  carcasses  were  skinned,  after 
which  the  flesh  was  stripped  from  the  bones  and 
hung  in  thin  slabs  from  the  poles  inside  the  wig- 
wams to  dry.  The  tongues  were  removed  from 
all  the  slaughtered  animals,  for  they  are  consid- 
ered a  great  delicacy  by  the  Indians  ;  and  some 
of  the  leg  bones  were  taken  for  the  marrow  they 
contained.  The  great  bulk  of  the  meat,  how- 
ever, was  left  for  the  wolves  and  foxes,  or  to  rot 
in  the  sun  when  summer  came. 

The  deer  killing  was  followed  by  a  season  of 
feasting,  as  is  always  the  case  amongst  the  In- 
dians after  a  successful  hunt.  In  every  wigwam 
a  kettle  of  stewing  venison  was  constantly  hang- 
ing, night  and  day  over  the  fire,  and  marrow 
bones  roasting  in  the  coals,  and  for  several  days 
the  men  did  nothing  but  eat  and  smoke  and 
drink  tea. 

It  was,  however,  a  busy  time  for  the  women. 
Besides  curing  the  meat  and  tongues,  they  ren- 
dered marrow  grease  from  the  bones  and  put  it 
op  neatly  in  bladders  for  future  use ;  and  it  fell 


f$6  UNGAVA  BOB 

to  their  lot,  also,  to  dress  and  tan  the  hides  into 
buckskin. 

The  passing  deer  herds  brought  in  their  wake 
packs  of  big  gray  and  black  timber  wolves, 
and  the  country  was  soon  infested  with  these 
animals.  At  night  their  howls  were  heard,  and 
they  came  boldly  to  the  scene  of  the  caribou 
slaughter  and  fattened  upon  the  discarded  car- 
casses of  the  animals.  Now  and  again  one  was 
shot.  With  plenty  to  eat,  they  were,  however, 
comparatively  harmless,  and  never  molested  the 
camp. 

February  was  drawing  to  a  close  when  one 
day  Sishetakushin,  Mookoomahn  and  two  other 
Indians  packed  their  toboggans  preparatory  to 
going  on  an  excursion.  Bob  noticed  the  prep- 
arations with  interest,  and  inquired  the  meaning 
of  them. 

"  The  tea  and  tobacco  are  nearly  gone,  and  we 
are  in  need  of  powder  and  ball,"  Sishetakushin 
answered. 

To  get  these  things  Bob  knew  they  must  go  to 
a  trading  post,  and  here,  he  decided,  was  a  pos- 
sible opportunity  for  him  to  find  a  means  of 
reaching  home.  He  asked  the  Indians  at  once 
for  permission  to  accompany  them.  There  was 


ONE  OF  THE  TRIBE  197 

no  objection  to  this  from  any  of  them,  though 
they  told  him  it  would  be  a  tiresome  journey, 
that  they  would  travel  fast,  and  be  back  in  a  few 
days. 

But  Bob  did  not  propose  to  let  any  chance  of 
meeting  white  men  pass  him,  and  he  hurriedly 
got  his  things  together  for  the  expedition.  He 
had  no  intimation  of  the  name  or  location  of  the 
post  they  were  going  to  further  than  that  the 
Indians  told  him  they  were  going  to  Mr.  Mac- 
Pherson,  who  was,  he  felt  sure,  a  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  Factor,  and  he  believed  that  if  he 
could  once  reach  one  of  the  company's  forts  a 
way  would  be  shown  him  to  get  to  Eskimo  Bay. 
That  night  was  one  of  excitement  and  anticipa- 
tion for  Bob. 

Manikawan  seemed  to  read  his  thoughts,  for 
the  whole  evening  she  looked  troubled,  and  her 
eyes  were  wet  when  Bob  said  good-bye  to  her  in 
the  morning.  As  the  little  party  turned  down 
upon  the  river  ice,  he  looked  back  once  and  saw 
her  standing  near  the  wigwam,  in  the  bright 
moonlight,  her  slender  figure  outlined  against 
the  snow,  and  he  waved  his  hand  to  her. 

He  never  knew  that  for  many  days  afterwards, 
when  the  dusk  of  evening  came,  she  stole  alone 


198  UNGAVA  BOB 

out  of  the  wigwam  and  down  the  trail  where  he 
had  disappeared  to  watch  for  his  return,  nor  how 
lonely  she  was  and  how  she  brooded  over  his 
loss  when  she  knew  that  she  should  never  see 
her  White  Brother  of  the  Snow  again. 


XVII 

STILL  FARTHER  NORTH 

BOB  and  the  Indians  travelled  in  single  file, 
with  Mookoomahn  leading,  and  kept  to 
the  wide,  smooth  pathway  that  marked 
the  place  where  the  river  lay  imprisoned  beneath 
ice  a  fathom  thick.  The  wind  had  swept  away 
the  loose  snow  and  beaten  down  that  which  re- 
mained into  a  hard  and  compact  mass  upon  the 
frozen  «' ver  bed,  making  snow-shoeing  here  much 
easier  than  in  the  spruce  forest  that  lay  behind 
the  willow  brush  along  the  banks.  The  Indians 
walked  with  the  long  rapid  stride  that  is  peculiar 
to  them,  and  which  the  white  man  finds  hard  to 
simulate,  and  good  traveller  though  he  was  Bob 
had  to  adopt  a  half  run  to  keep  their  pace.  They 
drew  but  two  lightly  loaded  toboggans,  and  un- 
encumbered by  the  wigwam  and  other  heavy 
camp  equipment,  and  with  no  trailing  squaws  to 
hamper  their  speed,  an  even,  unbroken  gait  was 
maintained  as  mile  after  mile  slipped  behind 
them. 

Not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring,  and  the  abso- 


4oo  UNGAVA  BOB 

iute  quiet  that  prevailed  was  broken  only  by  the 
moving  men  and  the  rhythmic  creak,  creak  of 
the  snow-shoes  as  they  came  in  contact  with  the 
hard  packed  snow. 

The  very  atmosphere  seemed  frozen,  so  intense 
was  the  cold.  The  moon  like  a  disk  of  burnished 
silver  set  in  a  steel  blue  sky  cast  a  weird,  metallic 
light  over  the  congealed  wilderness.  The  hoar 
frost  that  lay  upon  the  bushes  along  the  river 
bank  sparkled  like  filmy  draperies  of  spun  silver, 
and  transformed  the  bushes  into  an  unearthly 
multitude  of  shining  spirits  that  had  gathered 
there  from  the  dark,  mysterious  forest  which  lay 
behind  them,  to  watch  the  passing  strangers. 
Presently  the  light  of  dawn  began  to  diffuse  itself 
upon  the  world,  and  the  spirit  creations  were  re- 
placed by  substantial  banks  of  frost-encrusted 
willows.  In  a  little  while  the  sun  peeped  timor- 
ously over  the  eastern  hills,  but,  half  obscured  by 
a  haze  of  frost  flakes  which  hung  suspended  in 
the  air,  gave  out  no  warmth  to  the  frozen  earth. 

No  halt  was  made  until  noon.  Then  a  fire 
was  built  and  a  kettle  of  ice  was  melted  and  tea 
brewed.  Bob  was  hungry,  and  the  jerked  veni- 
son, with  its  delicate  nutty  flavour,  and  the  hot  tea, 
were  delicious.  The  latter,  poured  boiling  from 


STILL  FARTHER  NORTH          201 

the  kettle,  left  a  sediment  of  ice  in  the  bottom  of 
the  tin  cup  before  it  was  drained,  so  great  was 
the  cold. 

After  an  hour's  rest  they  hit  the  trail  again  and 
never  relaxed  their  speed  for  a  moment  until 
sunset.  Then  they  sought  the  shelter  of  the 
spruce  woods  behind  the  river  bank,  and  in  a 
convenient  spot  for  a  fire  cleared  a  circular  space, 
several  feet  in  circumference,  by  shovelling  the 
snow  back  with  their  snow-shoes,  forming  a  high 
bank  around  their  bivouac  as  a  protection  from  the 
wind,  should  it  rise.  At  one  side  a  fire  was  built, 
and  in  front  of  the  fire  a  thick  bed  of  boughs 
spread.  While  the  others  were  engaged  in  these 
preparations  Bob  and  Sishetakushin  cut  a  supply 
of  wood  for  the  night. 

It  was  quite  dark  before  they  all  settled  them- 
selves around  the  fire  for  supper.  Two  frying 
pans  were  now  produced,  and  from  a  haunch  of 
venison,  frozen  as  hard  as  a  block  of  wood,  thin 
chips  were  cut  with  an  axe,  and  with  ample  pieces 
of  fat  were  soon  sizzling  in  the  pans  and  filling 
the  air  with  an  appetizing  odour,  and  in  spite  of 
the  bleak  surroundings  the  place  assumed  a  de- 
gree of  comfort  and  hospitality. 

After  supper  the  Indians  squatted  around  the 


?02  UNGAVA  BOB 

fire  on  deerskins  spread  upon  the  boughs,  smok- 
ing their  pipes  and  telling  stories,  while  Bob  re- 
dined  upon  the  soft  robes  that  Manikawan  had 
thoughtfully  provided  him  with,  watching  the 
light  play  over  their  dark  faces  framed  in  long 
black  hair,  and  thought  of  the  Indian  girl  and 
wondered  if  he  was  always  to  live  amongst  them, 
and  if  he  would  ever  become  accustomed  to  the«r 
wild,  rude  life. 

Finally  they  lay  down  close  together,  with  their 
feet  towards  the  fire,  and  wrapped  their  heads 
and  shoulders  closely  in  the  skins,  leaving  their 
moccasined  feet  uncovered,  to  be  warmed  by  the 
blaze,  and  the  lad  was  soon  lost  in  dreams  of  the 
snug  cabin  at  Wolf  Bight  Once  during  the  night 
he  awoke  and  arose  to  replenish  the  fire.  The 
stars  were  looking  down  upon  them,  cold  and 
distant,  and  the  wilderness  seemed  very  solemn 
and  quiet  when  he  resumed  his  place  amongst 
the  sleeping  Indians. 

They  were  on  their  way  again  by  moonlight 
the  following  morning.  Shortly  after  daybreak 
they  turned  out  of  the  river  bed  and  towards  noon 
came  upon  some  snow-shoe  tracks.  A  little  later 
they  passed  a  steel  trap,  in  which  a  white  arctic 
fox  struggled  for  freedom.  They  halted  a  mo- 


STILL  FARTHER  NORTH          203 

ment  for  Sishetakushin  to  press  his  knee  upon  its 
side  to  kill  it  and  then  went  on.  The  fox  he  left 
in  the  trap,  however,  for  the  hunter  to  whom  it  be- 
longed. This  was  the  first  steel  trap  that  Bob 
had  seen  since  coming  amongst  the  Indians  and 
he  drew  from  its  presence  here  that  they  must 
be  approaching  a  trading  station  where  traps 
were  obtainable  and  in  use  by  the  hunters. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  they  turned  into 
a  komatik  track,  and  Bob's  heart  gave  a  bound 
of  joy 

"Sure  we're  gettin'  handy  t*  th'  coast!"  he  ex- 
claimed 

They  would  soon  find  white  men,  he  was  sure. 
The  track  led  them  on  for  a  mile  or  so,  and  then 
they  heard  a  dog's  howl  and  a  moment  later 
came  out  upon  two  snow  igloos.  Eskimo 
men,  women,  and  children  emerged  on  their 
hands  and  knees  from  the  low,  snow-tunnel  en- 
trance of  the  igloos  at  their  approach,  but  when 
they  saw  that  the  travellers  were  a  party  of  In- 
dians, gave  no  invitation  to  them  to  enter,  and 
said  nothing  until  Bob  called  "  Oksunie  "  to  them 
— a  word  of  greeting  that  he  had  learned  from 
the  Bay  folk.  Then  they  called  to  him  "  Oksunie, 
ofesunie,"  and  began  to  talk  amongst  themselves. 


J04  UNGAVA  BOB 

"They're  rare  wild  lookin'  huskies,"  thought 
Bob. 

As  much  as  Bob  would  have  liked  to  stop,  he 
did  not  do  so,  for  the  Indians  stalked  past  at  a 
rapid  pace,  never  by  word  or  look  showing  that 
they  had  seen  the  igloos  or  the  Eskimos. 

These  new  people,  particularly  the  women, 
who  wore  trousers  and  carried  babies  in  large 
hoods  hanging  on  their  backs,  did  not  dress  like 
any  Eskimos  that  Bob  had  ever  seen  before.  Nor 
had  he  ever  before  seen  the  snow  houses,  though 
he  had  heard  of  them  and  knew  what  they  were. 
The  dogs,  too,  were  large,  and  more  like  wolves 
in  appearance  than  those  the  Bay  folk  used,  and 
the  komatik  was  narrower  but  much  longer  and 
heavier  than  those  he  was  accustomed  to.  He 
was  surely  in  a  new  and  strange  land. 

More  igloos  were  seen  during  the  afternoon, 
but  they  were  passed  as  the  first  had  been,  and  at 
night  the  party  bivouacked  in  the  open  as  they 
had  done  the  night  before. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  they  passed 
into  a  stretch  of  barren,  treeless,  rolling  country, 
and  before  midday  turned  upon  a  well-beaten 
komatik  trail,  which  they  followed  for  a  couple  of 
miles,  when  it  swung  sharply  to  the  left  towards 


STILL  FARTHER  NORTH          205 

the  river,  and  as  they  turned  around  a  ledge  of 
rocks  at  the  top  of  a  low  ridge  a  view  met  Bob 
that  made  him  shout  with  joy,  and  hasten  his  pace. 
At  his  feet,  in  the  field  of  snow,  lay  a  post  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company. 


xvra 

A  MISSION  OF  TRUST 

AS  Bob  looked  down  upon  the  white- 
washed buildings  of  the  Post,  his  sensa- 
tion was  very  much  like  that  of  a  ship- 
wrecked sailor  who  has  for  a  long  time  been 
drifting  hopelessly  about  upon  a  trackless  sea  in 
a  rudderless  boat,  and  suddenly  finds  himself 
safe  in  harbour.  The  lad  had  never  seen  any- 
thing in  his  whole  life  that  looked  so  comfortable 
as  that  little  cluster  of  log  buildings  with  the 
smoke  curling  from  the  chimney  tops,  and  the 
general  air  of  civilization  that  surrounded  them. 
He  did  not  know  where  he  was,  nor  how  far 
from  home ;  but  he  did  know  that  this  was  the 
habitation  of  white  men,  and  the  cloud  of  utter 
helplessness  that  had  hung  over  him  for  so  long 
was  suddenly  swept  away  and  his  sky  was  clear 
and  bright  again. 

A  man  clad  in  a  white  adikey  and  white  mole- 
skin trousers  emerged  from  one  of  the  buildings, 

paused  for  a  moment  to  gaze  at  Bob  and  his 
206 


A  MISSION  OF  TRUST  207 

companions  as  they  approached,  and  then  re- 
entered  the  building. 

As  they  descended  the  hill  the  Indians  turned 
to  an  isolated  cabin  which  stood  somewhat  apart 
from  the  main  group  of  buildings  and  to  the 
eastward  of  them,  but  Bob  ran  down  to  the  one 
into  which  the  man  had  disappeared.  His  heart 
was  all  aflutter  with  excitement  and  expectancy. 
As  he  approached  the  door,  it  suddenly  opened, 
and  there  appeared  before  him  a  tall,  middle- 
aged  man  with  full,  sandy  beard  and  a  kindly 
face.  Bob  felt  intuitively  that  this  was  the  fac- 
tor of  the  Post,  and  he  said  very  respectfully, 

"  Good  day,  sir." 

"Good  day,  good  day,"  said  the  man.  "I 
thought  at  first  you  were  an  Indian.  Come  in." 

Bob  entered  and  found  himself  in  the  trader's 
office.  At  one  side  were  two  tables  that  served 
as  desks,  and  on  a  shelf  against  the  wall  behind 
them  rested  a  row  of  musty  ledgers  and  account 
books.  Benches  in  lieu  of  chairs  surrounded  a 
large  stove  in  the  centre. 

"  Take  off  your  skin  coat  and  sit  down,"  in- 
vited the  trader,  who  was,  indeed,  Mr.  Mac 
Pherson  of  whom  the  Indians  had  told. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Bob. 


206  UNGAVA  BOB 

When  he  was  finally  seated  Mr.  McPherson 
asked: 

"  That  was  Sishetakushin's  crowd  you  came 
with,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  Bob  answered. 

"  Where  did  you  hail  from  ?  It's  something 
new  to  see  a  white  man  come  out  of  the  bush 
with  the  Indians." 

"  From  Eskimo  Bay,  sir,  an'  what  place  may 
this  be  ?  " 

"  Eskimo  Bay !  Eskimo  Bay !  Why,  this  is 
Ungava !  How  in  the  world  did  you  ever  get 
across  the  country  ?  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  My  name's  Bob  Gray,  sir,  an'  I  lives  at  Wolf 
Bight."  Then  Bob  went  on,  prompted  now  and 
again  by  the  factor's  questions,  to  tell  the  story  of 
his  adventures. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  MacPherson,  "  you've  had  a 
wonderful  escape  from  freezing  and  death  and  a 
remarkable  experience.  You'd  better  go  over  to 
the  men's  house  and  they'll  put  you  up  there. 
Come  back  after  you've  had  dinner  and  we'll  talk 
your  case  over.  The  dinner  bell  is  ringing  now," 
he  added,  as  the  big  bell  began  to  clang.  "  Per- 
haps  I'd  better  go  over  with  you  and  show  you 
the  way." 


A  MISSION  OF  TRUST  09 

The  men's  house,  as  the  servants'  quarters 
were  called,  was  a  one-story  log  house  but  a  few 
steps  from  the  office.  As  Bob  and  Mr.  Mac- 
Pherson  entered  it,  a  big  man  with  a  bushy  red 
beard,  and  a  tall  brawny  man  with  chean  shaven 
face,  both  perhaps  twenty-five  or  thirty  years  of 
age,  and  both  with  "  Scot "  written  all  over  their 
countenances,  were  in  the  act  of  sitting  down  to 
an  uncovered  table,  while  an  ugly  old  Indian  hag 
was  dishing  up  a  savory  stew  of  ptarmigan. 

Bob's  eye  took  in  a  plate  heaped  high  with 
white  bread  in  the  centre  of  the  table  and  he 
mentally  resolved  that  it  should  not  be  there 
when  he  had  finished  dinner. 

"  Here's  some  company  for  you,"  announced 
the  factor.  "Ungava  Bob  just  ran  over  from 
Eskimo  Bay  to  pay  us  a  visit.  Take  care  of 
him.  This,"  continued  he  by  way  of  introduc- 
tion, indicating  the  red-headed  man,  "  is  Eric  the 
Red,  our  carpenter,  and  this,"  turning  to  the 
other,  "  is  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  our  black- 
smith. Fill  up,  Ungava  Bob,  and  come  over  to 
the  office  and  have  a  talk  when  you've  finished 
dinner." 

"  Sit  doon,  sit  doon,"  said  the  red-whiskered 
man,  adding,  as  Mr.  MacPherson  closed  the  door 


210  UNGAVA  BOB 

behind  him,  "  my  true  name's  Sandy  Craig  and 
th'  blacksmith  here  is  Jamie  Lunan.  Th'  boss 
ha'  a  way  o'  namin'  every  mon  t'  suit  hisself. 
Now,  what's  your  true  name,  lad  ?  'Tis  not  Un- 
gava  Bob." 

"  Bob  Gray,  an'  I  comes  from  Wolf  Bight." 

"  Now,  where  can  Wolf  Bight  be  ? "  asked 
Sandy. 

"  In  Eskimo  Bay,  sir." 

"  Aye,  aye,  Eskimo  Bay.  'Tis  a  lang  way  ye 
are  from  Eskimo  Bay  !  Th'  ship  folk  tell  o'  Es- 
kimo Bay  a  many  hundred  miles  t'  th'  suthard. 
An'  Jamie  an'  me  be  a  lang  way  fra'  Petherhead, 
Be  helpin'  yesel'  now,  lad.  Ha'  some  partridge 
an'  ye  maun  be  starvin'  for  bread,  eatin'  only  th' 
grub  o'  th'  heathen  Injuns  this  lang  while,"  said 
he,  passing  the  plate,  and  adding  in  apology, 
"  'Tis  na'  such  bread  as  we  ha'  in  auld  Scotland. 
Injun  women  canna  make  bread  wi'  th'  Scotch 
lassies  an'  we  ne'er  ha'  a  bit  o'  oatmeal  or  oat- 
cake. 'Tis  bread,  though.  An'  how  could  ye 
live  wi'  th'  Injuns?  'Tis  bad  enough  t'  bide 
here  wi'  na'  neighbours  but  th'  greasy  huskiea 
an*  durty  Injuns  comin'  now  an'  again,  but  we 
has  some  civilized  grub  t'  eat — sugar  an* 
molasses  an'  butter,  such  as  'tis." 


A  MISSION  OF  TRUST  211 

Sandy  and  Jamie  plied  Bob  with  all  sorts  of 
questions  about  Eskimo  Bay  and  his  life  with  the 
Indians,  and  they  did  not  fail  to  tell  him  a  good 
deal  about  Peterhead,  their  Scotland  home,  and 
both  bewailed  loudly  the  foolish  desire  for  ad- 
venture that  had  induced  them  to  leave  it  to  be 
exiled  in  Ungava  amongst  the  heathen  Eskimos 
and  Indians  in  a  land  where  "  nine  minths  o'  th' 
year  be  winter  an'  th'  ither  three  remainin* 
minths  infested  wi'  th'  worst  plagues  o'  Egypt, 
referrin'  t'  th'  flies  an'  nippers  (mosquitoes)." 

Strange  and  new  it  all  was,  and  while  he  ate 
and  talked,  Bob  took  in  his  surroundings.  The 
room  was  not  unlike  the  Post  kitchen  at  Eskimo 
Bay,  though  not  so  spotlessly  clean.  Besides 
the  table  there  were  two  benches,  four  rough, 
home-made  chairs  and  a  big  box  stove  that 
crackled  cheerily.  At  one  side  three  bunks  were 
built  against  the  wall  and  were  spread  with 
heavy  woollen  blankets.  Two  chests  stood  near 
the  bunks  and  several  guns  rested  upon  pegs 
against  the  wall.  Upon  ropes  stretched  above 
the  stove  numerous  duffel  socks  and  mittens 
hung  to  dry.  The  Indian  woman  passed  in  and 
out  through  a  passageway  that  led  from  the  side 
of  the  room  opposite  the  door  at  which  he  had 


2ik  UNGAVA  BOB 

entered  and  her  kitchen  was  evidently  on  tl  * 
Dther  side  of  the  passageway. 

Bob  did  not  forget  his  resolution  as  to  the 
bread,  to  which  was  added  the  luxury  of  butter, 
and  more  than  once  the  Indian  woman  had  to 
replenish  the  plate.  When  they  arose  from  the 
table  Jamie  pointed  out  to  Bob  the  bunk  that  he 
was  to  occupy.  Then,  while  they  smoked  their 
pipes,  they  gossiped  about  the  Post  doings  until 
the  bell  warned  them  that  it  was  time  tf  return 
to  their  work. 

In  accordance  with  Mr.  MacPherson's  instruc- 
tions Bob  walked  over  to  the  factor's  office 
where  he  found  a  young  man  of  eighteen  or 
nineteen  years  of  age  writing  at  one  of  the 
desks. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  he,  looking  up.  "  Mr.  Mac- 
Pherson  will  be  in  shortly.  You're  the  young 
fellow  just  arrived,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Bob. 

"  You've  had  a  long  journey,  I  hear,  and  must 
be  glad  to  get  out  When  did  you  leave 
home?" 

"  In  September,  sir,  when  I  goes  t'  my  trail." 

"  I  came  here  on  the  Eric  in  September,  and  if 
you  want  to  see  home  as  badly  as  I  do  you're 


A  MISSION  OF  TRUST  213 

pretty  anxious  to  get  back  there.  But  there 
isn't  any  chance  of  getting  away  from  here  till 
the  ship  comes.  This  is  the  last  place  God  eve? 
made  and  the  loneliest.  What  did  you  say  youi 
name  is  ?  " 

"  Bob  Gray,  sir." 

"  Well,  Mr.  MacPherson  will  call  you  some- 
thing else,  but  don't  mind  that  He  has  a  new 
name  for  every  one.  He  calls  Sishetakushin,  one 
of  the  Indians  you  came  hi  with,  Abraham 
Lincoln  because  he's  so  tall,  and  one  of  the  stout 
Eskimos  is  Grover  Cleveland.  Thaf  s  the  name 
of  an  American  president  Mr.  MacPherson  gets 
the  papers  every  year  and  keeps  posted.  He 
received,  on  the  ship,  all  last  year's  issues  of  a 
New  York  paper  called  the  Sun  besides  a  gres  t 
packet  of  Scotch  and  English  papers.  But  this 
Sun  he  thinks  more  of  than  any  of  them  and 
every  morning  he  picks  out  the  paper  for  that 
date  the  year  before  and  reads  it  as  though  it 
had  just  been  delivered.  One  year  behind,  but 
just  as  fresh  here.  He  finds  a  lot  of  new  names 
in  'em  to  give  the  Eskimos  and  Indians  and  the 
rest  of  us  that  way.  I'm  Secretary  Bayard,  who- 
ever he  may  be.  I  don't  read  the  American 
papers  much.  The  shief  clerk  is  Lord  Salisbury, 


214  UNGAVA  BOB 

the  new  premier.  You  know  the  Conservatives 
downed  the  Liberals,  and  Gladstone  is  out 
Good  enough  for  him,  too,  for  meddling  in  the 
Irish  question.  I'm  a  conservative,  or  I  would 
be  if  I  was  home.  We  don't  have  a  chance  to 
be  anything  here.  Now,  I  suppose  you " 

Here  Mr.  MacPherson  entered  and  the  loqua- 
cious Secretary  Bayard  became  suddenly  en- 
grossed in  his  work.  The  factor  opened  a  door 
leading  into  a  small  room  to  the  right 

"  Come  in  here,  Ungava  Bob,"  said  he,  "  and 
we'll  have  a  talk.  Now,"  he  continued  when 
they  were  seated,  "  what  do  you  think  you'll 
do?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  I  wants  t'  get  home  won 
derful  bad,"  said  Bob. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  suppose  you  do.  But  you're  a 
long  way  from  home.  It  looks  as  though  you'll 
have  to  stay  here  till  the  ship  comes  next  sum- 
mer. I  can  send  you  back  with  it" 

"  Tis  a  long  while  t'  be  bidin'  here,  sir,  an' 
I'm  fearin'  as  mother' 11  be  worryinV 

"There's  no  way  out  of  it  that  I  can  see, 
though.  I'll  give  you  work  to  do  to  pay  for  youf 
keep,  and  I'm  afraid  that's  the  best  we  can  do 
Unless,"  continued  the  factor,  thoughtfully 


A  MISSION  OF  TRUST  215 

"  unless  you  go  with  the  mail.  I  find  I've  got  to 
send  some  letters  to  Fort  Pelican.  How  far  is 
that  from  Eskimo  Bay, — a  hundred  miles  ?  n 

"  Ninety,  sir." 

"  Do  you  speak  Eskimo  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  the  dog  drivers  will  be  Eskimos  The 
men  that  leave  here  will  go  east  to  the  coast. 
They  will  meet  other  Eskimos  there  who  will  go 
to  Pelican.  It's  a  hard  and  dangerous  journey. 
Are  you  a  good  traveller  ?  " 

"  Not  so  bad,  sir,  an'  I  drives  dogs." 

Mr.  MacPherson  was  silent  for  a  few  moments, 
then  he  spoke. 

"  These  Eskimos  are  careless  scallawags  with 
letters  and  they  lose  them  sometimes.  The  let- 
ters I  am  sending  are  very  important  ones  or  1 
wouldn't  be  sending  them.  I  think  you  would 
take  better  care  of  them  than  they.  Will  you 
keep  them  safe  if  I  let  you  go  with  the  Es- 
kimos ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I'd  be  rare  careful." 

"  Well,  we'll  see.  I  think  I'll  let  you  take  the 
letters.  I  can't  say  yet  just  when  I'll  have  you 
start  but  within  the  month." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 


216  UNGAVA  BOB 

"  In  die  meantime  make  yourself  useful  about 
the  place  here.  There'll  be  nothing  for  you  to 
do  to-day.  Look  around  and  get  acquainted. 
You  may  go  now.  Come  to  the  office  in  the 
morning  and  one  of  the  clerks  will  tell  you  what 
to  do." 

"All  right,  sir." 

When  Bob  passed  out  of  doors  he  was  fairly 
treading  upon  air.  A  way  was  opening  up  for 
him  to  return  home  and  in  all  probability  he 
should  reach  there  by  the  time  Dick  and  Ed  and 
Bill  came  out  from  the  trails  in  the  spring  and  if 
they  had  not,  in  the  meantime,  taken  the  news  of 
his  disappearance  to  Wolf  Bight,  the  folks  at 
home  would  know  nothing  of  it  until  he  told  them 
himself  and  would  have  no  unusual  cause  for 
worry  in  the  meantime.  He  felt  a  considerable 
sense  of  importance,  too,  at  the  confidence  Mr. 
MacPherson  reposed  in  him  in  suggesting  that 
he  might  place  him  in  charge  of  an  important 
mail.  And  what  a  tale  he  would  have  to  tell  1 
Bessie  would  think  him  quite  a  hero.  After  all 
it  had  turned  out  well.  He  had  caught  a  silver 
fox  and  all  the  other  fur — quite  enough,  he  was 
sure,  to  send  Emily  to  the  hospital.  God  had 
been  very  good  to  him  and  he  cast  his  eyes  to 


A  MISSION  OF  TRUST  217 

heaven  and  breathed  a  little  prayer  of  thanks- 
giving. 

Sishetakushin  and  Mookoomahn  had  been 
quite  forgotten  by  Bob  in  the  excitement  of  the 
arrival  at  the  Fort  Now  he  saw  them  and  the 
two  other  Indians  coming  over  from  the  cabin  to 
which  they  had  gone  when  he  left  them  to  meet 
Mr.  MacPherson,  and  he  hurried  down  to  meet 
them  and  tell  them  that  he  had  found  a  way  to 
reach  home.  It  was  plain  that  they  did  not  ap- 
prove of  the  turn  matters  had  taken,  for  they  only 
grunted  and  said  nothing. 

They  turned  to  a  building  where  the  door 
stood  open  and  Bob  accompanied  them  and  en- 
tered with  them.  This  was  the  Post  shop,  and  a 
young  man,  whom  Bob  had  not  seen  before,  pre- 
sumably "  Lord  Salisbury,"  the  chief  clerk  ol 
whom  the  talkative  "Secretary  Bayard"  had 
spoken,  was  behind  the  counter  attending  to  the 
wants  of  an  Eskimo  and  his  wife,  the  latter  with 
a  black-eyed,  round-faced  baby  which  sat  con- 
tentedly in  her  hood  sucking  a  stick  of  black  to- 
bacco. The  clerk  spoke  to  the  Indians  in  their 
language,  said  "  good  day  "  to  Bob  in  English, 
and  then  continued  his  dickering  in  the  Eskimo 
language  with  his  customers,  who  had  deposited 


2i8  UNGAVA  BOB 

before  them  on  the  counter  a  number  of  arctic 
fox  pelts. 

When  the  clerk  had  finished  with  the  Eskimos 
he  turned  to  the  Indians  in  a  very  businesslike 
way  and  asked  to  see  the  furs  they  had  brought 
They  produced  some  marten  skins  which,  after  a 
great  deal  of  wrangling,  were  bartered  for  to 
bacco,  tea,  powder,  shot,  bullets,  gun  caps,  beads, 
three-cornered  needles  and  a  few  trinkets.  Much 
time  was  consumed  in  this,  for  the  Indians  in- 
sisted upon  handling  and  discussing  at  length 
each  individual  article  purchased. 

Bob  had  brought  with  him  the  marten  skins 
that  he  had  trapped  during  his  stay  with  the  In- 
dians and  he  exchanged  them  for  a  red  shawl 
and  a  little  box  of  beads  for  Manikawan,  a  trinket 
for  the  old  woman,  Manikawan's  mother,  and 
a  small  gift  each  for  Sishetakushin  and  Mookoo- 
mahn,  besides  some  much  needed  clothing  for 
himself. 

These  tokens  of  his  gratitude  he  presented  to 
the  two  Indians,  who  had  indicated  their  inten- 
tion of  returning  to  the  interior  camp  the  next 
morning.  They  had  not  fully  realized  until  now 
that  Bob  was  actually  going  to  leave  them  and 
attempt  to  reach  home  with  the  Eskimos,  and 


A  MISSION  OF  TRUST  tig 

they  protested  vigorously  against  the  plan.  Sish- 
etakushin  told  him  the  Eskimos  were  bad  peo- 
ple and  would  never  guide  him  safely  to  his 
friends.  Indeed,  he  asserted,  they  might  kill 
him  when  they  had  him  alone  with  them.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Indians  were  kind  and  true. 
They  had  recognized  his  worth  and  had  adopted 
him  into  the  tribe.  With  them  he  had  been 
happy  and  with  them  he  would  be  safe.  He 
could  have  his  own  wigwam  and  take  ManikawaD 
for  his  wife ;  and  sometimes,  if  he  wished,  he 
could  go  to  visit  his  people. 

The  failure  of  their  arguments  to  impress  Bob 
was  a  great  disappointment  to  the  Indians,  and 
Bob,  on  his  part,  felt  a  keen  sense  of  sorrow  when, 
the  following  morning,  he  saw  his  benefactors 
go.  They  had  saved  his  life  and  had  done  all 
they  could  in  their  rude,  primitive  way  for  his 
comfort,  and  he  appreciated  their  kindness  and 
hospitality. 

Ungava  Bob,  as  every  one  at  the  Post  called 
him,  made  himself  generally  useful  about  the  fort 
and  was  soon  quite  at  home  in  his  new  surround- 
ings. He  cut  wood  and  helped  the  Eskimo  serv- 
ants feed  the  dogs,  and  did  any  jobs  that  pre 
sented  themselves  and  soon  became  a  general 


2«o  UNGAVA  BOB 

favourite,  not  only  with  Mr.  MacPherson  but 
with  the  clerks  and  servants  also. 

His  quarters  with  Sandy  and  Jamie  seemed 
luxurious  in  contrast  with  the  rough  life  of  the 
interior  to  which  he  had  so  long  been  accus- 
tomed, and  when  the  three  gathered  around  the 
red  hot  stove  those  cold  evenings  after  the  day's 
work  was  done  and  supper  eaten,  the  Scotchmen 
held  him  enthralled  with  stories  they  told  of 
their  native  land  and  the  wonderful  and  magnifi- 
cent things  they  had  seen  there. 

Besides  the  factor  and  the  two  clerks  these 
were  the  only  white  people  at  the  Fort,  and  nat- 
urally they  grew  to  be  dose  companions.  The 
white  men,  too,  were  the  only  ones  of  the  Post 
folk  that  could  speak  English,  for  the  few  Eski- 
mos and  Indians  that  lived  on  the  reservation 
knew  only  their  respective  native  tongue. 

And  so  the  time  passed  until,  at  last,  the  mid- 
dle of  March  came,  with  its  lengthening  days 
and  stormy  weather,  and  Bob  was  beginning  to 
fear  that  Mr.  MacPherson  had  abandoned  the 
project  of  sending  him  out  with  a  mail,  for  notlv 
ing  further  had  been  said  about  his  going  since 
the  conversation  on  the  day  of  his  arrival.  For 
two  or  three  days  he  had  been  upon  the  lookout; 


A  MISSION  OF  TRUST  221 

for  a  favourable  opportunity  to  ask  whether  or  not 
he  was  to  go,  and  was  thinking  about  it  one  Fri- 
day morning  as  he  worked  at  the  wood-pile,  when 
"  Secretary  Bayard  "  hailed  him : 

"  Hey,  there,  Bob !    The  boss  wants  you." 

This  was  auspicious,  and  Bob  hurried  over  to 
the  factor's  inner  office,  where  he  found  Mr.  Mac- 
Pherson  waiting  for  him. 

"  Well,  Ungava  Bob,"  the  factor  greeted,  "  are 
you  getting  tired  of  Ungava  and  anxious  to  get 
away  ?  " 

"  I'm  likin'  un  fine,  sir,  but  wantin'  f  be  goin' 
home  wonderful  bad,"  answered  Bob. 

"  I  suppose  you  are.  I  suppose  you  are.  I 
remember  when  I  was  young  and  first  left  home, 
how  badly  I  wanted  to  go  back,"  he  said,  rem- 
iniscently.  "That  was  a  long  while  ago  and 
there's  no  one  for  me  to  go  home  to  now — 
they're  all  dead — all  dead — and  it's  too  late." 

He  was  silent  for  a  little  in  meditation,  and 
seemed  to  have  quite  forgotten  Bob.  Then  sud- 
denly bringing  himself  from  the  past  to  the  pres- 
ent again,  he  continued : 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  want  to  go  home,  and  I'm  go- 
ing to  start  you  on  Monday  morning.  I'll  give 
you  a  packet  of  very  important  letters  that  you 


222  UNGAVA  BOB 

will  deliver  to  Mr.  Forbes,  the  factor  at  Fort 
Pelican,  and  I  shall  hold  you  responsible  for  their 
safe  delivery.  Akonuk  and  Matuk  will  go 
with  you  as  far  as  Kangeva,  where  they  will  try 
to  get  two  other  Eskimos  with  a  good  team  of 
dogs  to  take  you  on  to  Rigolet  But  it  may  be 
they'll  have  to  go  farther,  to  find  drivers  that 
know  the  way,  and  that  will  delay  you  some. 
You'll  have  time  to  reach  Rigolet,  however,  be- 
fore the  break-up  if  you  push  on.  The  Eskimos 
will  lose  some  time  visiting  with  their  friends 
when  they  meet  them  on  the  way,  and  I've  al- 
lowed for  that  Now,  be  ready  to  start  on  Mon- 
day. The  clerks  will  fix  you  up  with  what  sup- 
plies you  will  need  for  the  journey." 

"  Yes,  sir.  I'll  be  ready,  an'  thank  you,  sir." 
"  Hold  on,"  said  the  factor  as  Bob  turned  to 
go.  "  Here's  a  rifle  that  I'm  going  to  let  you 
take  with  you,  for  you  may  need  it."  He  picked 
up  a  gun  that  had  been  leaning  against  the  wall 
beside  him.  "  It's  a  44  repeating  Winchester 
that  I've  used  for  three  or  four  years,  and  it's  a 
good  one.  I've  got  a  heavier  one  now  for  seals 
and  white  whales,  and  I'll  give  you  this  if  you 
take  the  letters  through  safely.  Is  that  a  bar- 
gain?" 


A  MISSION  OF  TRUST  223 

Bob's  eyes  bulged  and  his  pleasure  was  mani- 
fest 

"  Yes,  sir.  Thank  you,  sir.  I'll  not  be  losin* 
*'  letters." 

It  was  the  first  repeating  rifle — the  first  rifle, 
in  fact,  of  any  kind — that  he  had  ever  seen, 
and  as  Mr.  MacPherson  explained  and  illus- 
trated to  him  its  manipulation,  he  thought  it 
the  most  marvellous  piece  of  mechanism  in  the 
world. 

"  Now  be  careful  how  you  handle  it,"  cautioned 
the  factor  after  the  arm  had  been  thoroughly  de- 
scribed. "  You  see  that  when  you  throw  a  car- 
tridge into  the  barrel  by  the  lever  action  it  cocks 
the  gun,  and  if  you're  not  going  to  discharge  it 
again  immediately  you  must  let  the  hammer 
down.  It  shoots  a  good  many  times  farther,  too, 
than  your  old  gun,  so  be  sure  there  are  no  Eski- 
mos within  half  a  mile  of  its  muzzle  or  you'll  be 
killing  some  of  them,  and  I  don't  want  that  to 
happen,  for  I  need  them  all  to  hunt  Besides,  if 
you  killed  one  of  them  his  friends  would  be  put- 
ting you  out  of  the  way  so  you'd  kill  no  more, 
and  then  my  packet  of  letters  wouldn't  be  de- 
livered. Now  look  out" 

-  ill  be  rare  careful  of  un,  sir." 


•24  UNGAVA  BOB 

"Very  well,  see  that  you  are.  Be  ready  to 
start,  now,  at  daylight,  Monday." 

"I'll  be  ready,  sir." 

Bob's  delight  was  little  short  of  ecstatic  as  he 
strode  out  of  the  office  with  his  rifle. 

The  next  day  (Saturday)  "Secretary  Bayard," 
with  voluminous  comments  and  cautions  in  ref- 
erence to  the  undertaking,  the  Eskimos  and  things 
in  general,  helped  him  and  the  two  Eskimos 
that  were  to  accompany  him  put  in  readiness  his 
supplies,  which  consisted  of  hardtack,  jerked 
venison,  fat  pork — the  only  provisions  they  had 
which  would  not  freeze — tea,  two  kettles,  sulphur 
matches,  ammunition,  and  a  reindeer  skin  sleep- 
ing bag.  The  Eskimos  possessed  sleeping  bags 
of  their  own.  Blubber  and  white  whale  meat, 
frozen  very  hard,  were  packed  for  dog  food. 

An  axe,  a  small  jack  plane  and  two  snow 
knives  were  the  only  tools  to  be  carried.  This 
knife  had  a  blade  about  two  feet  in  length  and 
resembled  a  small,  broad-bladed  sword.  It  was 
to  be  used  in  the  construction  of  snow  igloos. 
The  jack  plane  was  needed  to  keep  the  komatik 
runners  smooth. 

Instead  of  the  runners  being  shod  with  whale- 
bone,  as  in  many  places  in  the  North,  the  Es- 


A  MISSION  OF  TRUST  225 

kimos  of  Ungava  apply  a  turf — which  is  stored 
for  the  purpose  in  the  short  summer  season — and 
mixed  with  water  to  the  consistency  of  mud. 
This  is  moulded  on  the  runners  with  the  hands 
in  a  thick,  broad,  semicircular  shape,  and  freezes 
as  hard  as  glass.  Then  its  irregularities  are 
planed  smooth,  and  it  slips  easily  over  the  snow 
and  ice. 

Finally,  all  the  preparations  were  completed, 
and  Bob  looked  forward  in  a  high  state  of 
excited  anticipation  to  the  great  journey  of  new 
experiences  and  adventures  that  lay  before  him 
to  be  crowned  by  the  joy  of  his  home-coming. 

But  a  thousand  miles  separated  Bob  from  his 
home  and  danger  and  death  lurked  by  the  way. 
Human  plans  and  day-dreams  are  not  con- 
sidered by, the  Providence  that  moulds  man's 
fortune,  and  it  is  a  blessed  thing  that  human 
eyes  cannot  look  into  the  future, 


XIX 

AT  THE  MERCY  OF  THE  WIND 

IN  the  starlight  of  Monday  morning  Akonuk 
and  Matuk  harnessed  then:  twelve  big  dogs. 
Fierce  creatures  these  animals  were,  scarcely 
less  wild  than  the  wolves  that  prowled  over  the 
hills  behind  the  Fort,  of  which  they  were  the 
counterpart,  and  more  than  once  the  Eskimos 
had  to  beat  them  with  the  butt  end  of  a  whip  to 
stop  their  fighting  and  bring  them  to  submission. 

The  load  had  already  been  lashed  upon  the 
komatik  and  the  mud  on  the  runners  rubbed 
over  with  lukewarm  water  which  had  frozen  into 
a  thin  glaze  of  ice  that  would  slip  easily  over  the 
snow. 

Mr.  MacPherson  gave  Bob  the  package  of 
letters,  with  a  final  injunction  not  to  lose  them 
when  at  length  the  dogs  were  harnessed  and  all 
was  ready.  Good-byes  were  said  and  Bob  and 
his  two  Eskimo  companions  were  off. 

The  snow  was  packed  hard  and  firm,  so  that 

neither  the  dogs  nor  the  komatik  broke  through, 
226 


AT  THE  MERCY  OF  THE  WIND    227 

and  the  animals,  fresh  and  eager,  started  at  a 
fast  pace  and  maintained  an  even,  steady  trot 
throughout  the  day. 

Occasionally  there  were  hills  to  climb,  and 
some  of  these  were  so  steep  that  it  was  necessary 
for  Bob  and  the  Eskimos  to  haul  upon  the 
traces  with  the  dogs,  and  now  and  then  they  had 
to  lift  the  komatik  over  rocky  places,  and  on  one 
river  that  they  crossed  they  were  forced  to  cut 
in  several  places  a  passage  around  ice  hills, 
where  the  tide  had  piled  the  ice  blocks  thirty  or 
forty  feet  high.  But  for  the  most  part  the  route 
lay  over  a  rolling  country  near  the  coast. 

Only  at  long  intervals  were  trees  to  be  seen, 
and  these  were  very  small  and  stunted,  and  grew 
in  sheltered  hollows.  At  noon  they  halted  in 
one  of  these  hollows  to  build  a  fire,  over  which 
they  melted  snow  in  one  of  the  kettles  and  made 
tea,  with  which  they  washed  down  some  hard- 
tack and  jerked  venison. 

That  night  when  they  stopped  to  make  their 
camp,  sixty  miles  lay  behind  them.  The  going 
had  been  good  and  they  had  done  a  splendid 
day's  work. 

Before  unharnessing  the  dogs,  which  would 
have  immediately  attacked  and  destroyed  the 


228  UNGAVA  BOB 

goods  upon  the  sledge  had  they  been  release^ 
the  Eskimos  went  about  building  an  igloo. 

A  good  bank  of  snow  was  selected  and  out  of 
this  Akonuk  cut  blocks  as  large  as  he  could  lift 
and  placed  them  on  edge  in  a  circle  about 
seven  feet  in  diameter  in  the  interior.  As  each 
block  was  placed  it  was  trimmed  and  fitted 
closely  to  its  neighbour.  Then  while  Matuk  cut 
more  blocks  and  handed  them  to  Akonuk  as 
they  were  needed,  the  latter  standing  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  structure  placed  them  upon  edge  upon 
the  other  blocks,  building  them  up  in  spiral 
form,  and  narrowing  in  each  upper  round  until 
the  igloo  assumed  the  form  of  a  dome.  When 
it  was  nearly  as  high  as  his  head,  the  upper  tier 
of  blocks  was  so  close  together  that  a  single 
large  block  was  sufficient  to  close  the  aperture 
at  the  top.  This  block  was  like  the  keystone  in 
an  arch,  and  held  the  others  firmly  in  place. 
Akonuk  now  cut  a  round  hole  through  the  side 
of  the  igloo  close  to  the  bottom,  and  large 
enough  for  him  to  crawl  through  on  his  hands 
and  knees. 

When  the  Eskimos  began  building  the  snow 
house  Bob  commenced  unloading  the  komatik, 
but  Matuk  called  "Chuly,  chuly," — wait  a 


AT  THE  MERCY  OF  THE  WIND    229 

little — to  him,  and  said  "tamaany," — here — a 
suggestion  that  he  would  be  more  useful  in  help- 
ing to  chink  up  the  crevices  between  the  blocks 
of  snow  on  the  igloo  after  Akonuk  placed  them 
This  he  did,  and  in  half  an  hour  from  the  time 
they  halted  the  igloo  was  completed  and  was  so 
strongly  built  a  man  could  have  stood  on  its  top 
without  fear  of  breaking  it  down. 

The  tops  of  spruce  boughs  were  now  cut  and 
spread  within,  after  which  they  unlashed  the 
komatik,  and,  covering  the  bed  of  boughs  with 
deerskins,  stored  everything  that  the  dogs  would 
be  likely  to  destroy  safely  inside  the  igloo. 
This  done  the  dogs  were  unharnessed  and  fed, 
the  men  standing  over  the  animals  with  stout 
sticks  to  prevent  their  fighting  while  they  rav- 
enously gulped  down  the  chunks  of  frozen  whale 
meat 

This  function  completed,  a  fire  was  made  out 
side  the  igloo  and  tea  brewed.  With  the  kettle 
of  hot  tea  the  three  crawled  into  the  igloo,  drag- 
ging after  them  a  block  of  snow  which  Akonuk 
fitted  neatly  into  the  entrance  and  chinked  the 
edges  with  loose  snow. 

Matuk  now  brought  forth  an  Eskimo  lamp  into 
which  he  squeezed  the  oil  from  a  piece  of  seal 


230  UNGAVA  BOB 

blubber,  first  pounding  the  blubber  with  the  axe 
head,  and  with  moss  to  serve  the  purpose  of  a 
wick,  the  lamp  was  lighted.  This  lamp,  which 
was  made  of  stone  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  half 
moon,  was  about  ten  inches  long,  four  inches 
wide  and  an  inch  deep.  The  moss  that  served 
as  a  wick  was  arranged  along  the  straight  side, 
and  gave  out  a  strong,  fishy  odour  as  it  burned. 

Besides  the  tea,  hardtack  and  jerked  venison, 
Bob  ate  pieces  of  the  frozen  fat  pork  which  had 
been  boiled  before  starting,  and  found  it  very 
delicious,  as  fat  always  is  to  a  traveller  in  the 
far  North.  The  Eskimos  each  accepted  a  small 
piece  of  it  from  him,  but  when  he  offered  them  a 
second  portion  they  both  said  "Taemet," — 
Thank  you,  enough — and  instead  helped  them- 
selves liberally  to  raw  seal  blubber,  which  they 
ate  with  an  evident  relish  and  gusto  along  with 
the  jerked  venison  and  hardtack. 

Akonuk,  the  older  of  these  men,  was  perhaps 
thirty-five  years  of  age,  nearly  six  feet  in  height 
and  well  proportioned.  Matuk  was  not  so  tall, 
but  like  Akonuk  was  well  formed  Both  were 
muscular  and  powerful  men  physically,  and  both 
had  round,  fat  faces  that  were  full  of  good 
nature. 


AT  THE  MERCY  OF  THE  WIND    231 

Intense  as  was  the  cold  out  of  doors,  the  stone 
lamp  soon  made  the  igloo  so  warm  within  that 
all  were  compelled  to  remove  their  outer  skin 
garments.  The  snow,  however,  was  not  melted, 
but  remained  quite  hard  and  firm. 

The  Eskimos  talked  and  smoked  for  a  whole 
hour  after  supper,  before  stretching  in  their  sleep- 
ing bags,  but  Bob  crawled  into  his  almost  imme- 
diately, for  he  was  very  weary  after  his  long 
day's  travel.  His  knowledge  of  their  language 
was  not  sufficient  for  him  to  take  part  in  the  con- 
versation, or,  indeed,  to  understand  much  they 
said,  and  the  constant  talk  soon  became  tiresome 
to  him,  though  he  kept  his  ears  open  with  a  view 
to  adding  to  his  Eskimo  vocabulary  whenever  an 
opportunity  offered. 

"  'Tis  a  strange  language  an'  I'm  wonderin* 
how  they  understands  un,"  he  observed  as  he 
turned  over  to  go  to  sleep. 

Very  early  the  next  morning  he  heard  Akonuk 
calling  to  Matuk  to  wake  up.  Then  for  a  little 
while  the  two  Eskimos  conversed  together  and 
finally  the  lamp  was  lighted.  Over  this  a  snow 
knife  was  stuck  into  the  side  of  the  igloo  and  the 
kettle  hung  upon  the  knife  in  such  a  position 
that  it  was  directly  over  the  flame,  and  snow,  cut 


232  UNGAVA  BOB 

from  the  side  of  the  igloo  near  the  bottom,  was 
melted  for  tea,  and  thus  the  simple  breakfast  was 
prepared  without  going  out  of  doors. 

When  Bob  came  out  of  his  bag  to  eat  he  re- 
alized that  a  storm  was  raging  outside,  for  he 
could  hear  the  wind  roaring  around  the  igloo, 
and  Akonuk  made  him  understand  that  a  heavy 
snow-storm  was  in  progress  and  a  continua- 
tion of  the  journey  that  day  quite  out  of  the 
question.  When  daylight  finally  filtered  dimly 
through  the  igloo  roof,  he  removed  the  snow 
block  that  closed  the  entrance,  and  crawled  to 
the  outer  world,  where  he  Aerified  Akonuk's 
statement 

The  air  was  so  filled  with  snow  that  it  would 
be  quite  useless  to  attempt  to  move  in  it.  The 
previous  night  the  dogs  had  dug  holes  for  them- 
selves in  the  bank  and  were  now  completely  cov- 
ered with  the  drift,  and  invisible,  and  the  komatik, 
too,  was  quite  hidden.  The  aspect  was  dreary  in 
the  extreme,  and  he  returned  to  spend  the  day 
dozing  in  his  sleeping  bag. 

For  two  days  they  were  held  prisoners  by  the 
storm,  and  when  finally  the  third  morning  dawned 
dear  and  cold,  a  deep  covering  of  soft  snow  had 
spoiled  the  good  going  and  they  found  travelling 


AT  THE  MERCY  OF  THE  WIND    233 

much  slower  and  more  difficult  than  the  day  they 
started. 

Akonuk  and  Bob  ran  ahead  on  their  snow- 
shoes  to  break  the  way  for  the  dogs,  which  Matuk 
drove,  and  found  it  necessary  to  constantly  urge 
the  animals  on  with  shouts  of  "  Oo-isht  1  Oo-isht  I 
Ok-suit !  Ok-suit  I "  and  sometimes  with  stinging 
cuts  of  his  long  whip.  This  whip  was  made  of 
braided  strands  of  walrus  hide,  and  tapered  from 
a  thickness  of  two  inches  at  the  butt  to  one  long 
single  strand  at  the  tip.  Its  handle  was  a  piece 
of  wood  about  a  foot  long  and  the  whole  whip 
was  perhaps  thirty-five  feet  in  length.  When  not 
in  use  a  loop  on  the  handle  was  dropped  over  the 
end  of  one  of  the  forward  crosspieces  of  the 
komatik,  and  its  lash  trailed  behind  in  the  snow. 
Here  it  could  be  readily  reached  and  brought 
into  instant  service.  Matuk  was  an  expert  in  the 
manipulation  of  this  cruel  instrument,  and  the 
dogs  were  in  deadly  fear  of  it.  When  he  cracked 
it  over  their  heads  they  would  plunge  madly  for- 
ward and  whine  piteously  for  mercy.  When  he 
wished  to  punish  a  dog  he  could  cut  it  with  the 
lash  tip  even  to  the  extent  of  breaking  the  skin, 
if  he  desired,  and  he  never  missed  the  animal  he 
aimed  at 


234  UNGAVA  BOB 

Each  dog  had  an  individual  trace  which  was 
fastened  to  a  long,  single  thong  of  sealskin  at- 
tached to  the  front  of  the  komatik.  These  traces 
were  of  varying  length,  the  leader,  or  dog 
trained  to  the  Eskimos'  calls,  having  the  longest 
trace,  which  permitted  it  to  go  well  in  advance 
of  the  others. 

For  several  days  the  journey  was  monotonous 
and  uneventful.  Gradually  as  they  advanced  the 
travelling  improved  again,  as  the  March  winds 
drifted  away  the  soft,  loose  snow  and  left  the 
bottom  solid  and  firm  for  the  dogs. 

Ptarmigans  were  plentiful,  as  were  also  arctic 
hares,  and  a  white  fox  and  one  or  two  white  owls 
were  killed.  The  flesh  of  all  these  they  ate,  and 
were  thus  enabled  to  keep  in  reserve  the  pro- 
visions they  had  brought  with  them.  Bob  was 
rather  disgusted  than  amused  to  see  the  Eskimos 
eat  the  flesh  of  animals  and  birds  raw.  They  ap- 
peared to  esteem  as  a  particular  delicacy  the 
creshly  killed  ptarmigans,  still  warm  with  the  life 
olood,  eating  even  the  entrails  uncooked. 

One  afternoon  they  turned  the  komatik  from 
the  land  to  the  far  stretching  ice  of  a  wide  bay 
directing  their  course  towards  a  cove  on  the  far 


AT  THE  MERCY  OF  THE  WIND    235 

ther  side,  where  the  Eskimos  said  they  expected 
to  find  igloos. 

All  day  a  stiff  wind  had  been  blowing  from  the 
southwest  and  as  the  day  grew  old  it  increased 
in  velocity.  The  komatik  was  taking  an  almost 
easterly  course  and  therefore  the  wind  did  not 
seriously  hamper  their  progress,  though  it  was 
bitter  cold  and  searching  and  made  travelling 
extremely  uncomfortable. 

Less  than  half-way  across  the  bay,  which  was 
some  twelve  miles  wide,  a  crack  in  the  ice  was 
passed  over.  Presently  cracks  became  numerous, 
and  glancing  behind  him  Bob  noticed  a  wide 
black  space  along  the  shore  at  the  point  where 
they  had  taken  to  the  ice,  and  could  see  in  the 
distance  farther  to  the  northwest,  as  it  reflected 
the  light,  a  white  streak  of  foam  where  the  angry 
sea  was  assailing  the  ice  barrier.  He  realized  at 
once  that  the  wind  and  sea  were  smashing 
the  ice. 

They  were  far  from  land  and  in  grave  peril. 
The  Eskimos  urged  the  dogs  to  renewed  efforts, 
and  the  poor  brutes  themselves,  seeming  to  re- 
alize the  danger,  pulled  desperately  at  the  traces. 

After  a  time  the  ice  beneath  them  began  to 


236  UNGAVA  BOB 

undulate,  moving  up  and  down  in  waves  and 
giving  an  uncertain  footing.  Between  them  and 
the  cove  they  were  heading  for,  but  a  little  out- 
side of  their  course,  was  a  bare,  rocky  island  and 
the  Eskimos  suddenly  turned  the  dogs  towards 
it.  The  whole  body  of  ice  was  now  separated 
from  the  mainland  and  this  island  was  the  only 
visible  refuge  open  to  them.  Behind  them  the 
sea  was  booming  and  thundering  in  a  terrifying 
manner  as  it  drove  gigantic  ice  blocks  like 
mighty  battering  rams  against  the  main  mass, 
which  crumbled  steadily  away  before  the  on- 
slaught 

It  had  become  a  race  for  life  now,  and  it  was  a 
question  whether  the  sea  or  the  men  would  win. 
Once  a  crack  was  reached  that  they  could  not 
cross  and  they  had  to  make  a  considerable  detour 
to  find  a  passage  around  it,  and  it  looked  for  a 
little  while  as  though  this  sealed  their  fate,  but 
with  a  desperate  effort  they  presently  found 
themselves  within  a  few  yards  of  the  island. 

Here  a  new  danger  awaited  them.  The  ice 
upon  the  shore  was  rising  and  falling  and 
crumbling  against  the  rocks  with  each  incoming 
and  receding  sea.  To  successfully  land  it  would 
be  necessary  to  make  a  dash  at  the  very  instant 


AT  THE  MERCY  OF  THE  WIND    337 

that  the  ice  came  in  contact  with  the  shore.  A 
moment  too  soon  or  a  moment  too  late  and  they 
would  inevitably  be  crushed  to  death.  It  was 
their  only  way  of  escape,  however.  The  howl- 
ing dogs  were  held  in  leash  until  the  proper 
moment,  and  all  prepared  for  the  run. 

Akonuk  gave  the  word.  The  dogs  leaped  for- 
ward, the  men  jumped,  and  they  found  them- 
selves ashore.  The  three  grabbed  the  traces 
and  helped  the  dogs  jerk  the  komatik  clear  of 
the  next  sea,  and  all  were  at  last  safe. 

Five  minutes  later  a  landing  would  have  been 
impossible,  and  two  hours  later  the  entire  bay 
surrounding  their  island  was  swept  clear  of  ice 
by  the  gale  and  outgoing  tide. 

During  the  whole  adventure  the  Eskimos  had 
conducted  themselves  with  the  utmost  coolness 
and  gave  Bob  confidence  and  courage.  Dangers 
of  this  kind  had  no  terrors  for  them  for  they  had 
met  them  all  their  lives. 

They  had  landed  upon  the  windward  side  of 
the  island  at  a  point  where  they  were  exposed  to 
the  full  sweep  of  the  gale. 

"  Peungeatuk  " — very  bad — said  Akonuk. 

Then  he  told  Bob  to  remain  by  the  dogs 
while  he  and  Matuk  looked  for  a  sheltered  camp- 


238  UNGAVA  BOB 

ing  place.  In  half  an  hour  Matuk  returned,  his 
face  wreathed  in  smiles,  with  the  information, 

"  Innuit,  igloo." 

Then  he  and  Bob  drove  the  dogs  to  the  lee 
side  of  the  island,  where  they  found  four  large 
snow  igloos  and  several  men,  women  and  chil- 
dren, standing  outside  waiting  to  see  the 
white  traveller. 

The  Eskimos  received  Bob  kindly,  and  they 
asked  him  inside  while  some  of  the  men  helped 
Akonuk  and  Matuk  erect  an  igloo  and  fix  up 
their  camp. 

The  several  igloos  were  all  connected  by  snow 
tunnels,  which  permitted  of  an  easy  passage  from 
one  to  the  other  without  the  necessity  of  going 
out  of  doors.  A  piece  of  clear  ice,  like  glass, 
was  set  into  the  roof  of  each  to  answer  for  a  win- 
dow. They  were  all  filled  with  a  stench  so  sick- 
ening that  Bob  soon  made  an  excuse  to  go  out- 
side and  lend  a  hand  in  unpacking  and  helping 
Akonuk  and  Matuk  make  their  own  snow  house 
ready. 

There  were  no  boughs  here  for  a  bed,  as  the 
island  sustained  no  growth  whatever,  and  in 
place  of  the  boughs  the  dog  harness  was  spread 
about  before  the  deerskins  were  put  down.  In  a 


AT  THE  MERCY  OF  THE  WIND    239 

little  while  the  place  was  made  quite  com- 
fortable. 

It  was  not  until  they  sat  down  to  supper  that 
Bob  realized  fully  the  serious  position  they  were 
in.  Akonuk  and  Matuk,  after  much  difficulty, 
for  he  could  understand  their  Eskimo  tongue  so 
imperfectly,  explained  to  him  that  there  was  no 
means  of  reaching  the  mainland  as  there  were 
no  boats  on  the  island,  and  that  after  the  food 
they  had  was  eaten  there  would  be  no  means  of 
procuring  more,  as  the  island  had  no  game  upon 
it.  They  also  told  him  that  no  one  would  be 
passing  the  island  until  summer  and  that  there 
was  therefore  no  hope  of  outside  rescue. 

But  one  chance  of  escape  was  possible.  If  the 
wind  were  to  shift  to  the  northward  and  hold 
there  long  enough  it  would  probably  drive  the 
ice  back  into  the  bay  and  then  it  would  quickly 
freeze  and  they  could  reach  the  mainland.  This 
their  only  hope,  at  this  season  of  the  year,  foi 
March  was  nearly  spent,  was  a  scant  ones. 


XX 

PRISONERS  OF  THE  SEA 

THE  party  of  Eskimos  that  Bob  and  his 
companions  found  encamped  upon  the 
island  had  come  from  the  Kangeva 
mainland  to  spear  seals  through  the  animals' 
breathing  holes  in  the  ice,  which  in  this  part  of 
the  bay  were  more  numerous  than  on  the  main^ 
land  side.  In  the  few  days  since  they  had  estab- 
lished themselves  here  they  had  met  with  some 
success,  and  had  accumulated  a  sufficient  store 
of  meat  and  blubber  to  keep  them  and  their 
dogs  for  a  month  or  so,  but  further  seal  hunting, 
or  hunting  of  any  kind,  was  now  out  of  the 
question,  as  no  animal  life  existed  on  the  island 
itself,  and  without  boats  with  which  to  go  upon 
the  water  the  people  were  quite  helpless  in  this 
respect. 

Limited  as  was  their  supply  of  provisions, 
however,  they  unselfishly  offered  to  share  with 
Bob  and  his  two  companions  the  little  they  had, 
as  is  the  custom  with  people  who  have  not 

learned  the  harder  ways  of  civilization  and  there- 
240 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  SEA          241 

fore  live  pretty  closely  to  the  Golden  Rule.  This 
hospitality  was  a  considerable  strain  upon  their 
resources,  for  the  twelve  dogs  in  addition  to 
their  own  would  require  no  small  amount  of 
flesh  and  fat  to  keep  them  even  half-way  fed ; 
and  the  whale  meat  that  had  been  brought  for 
the  dogs  from  Ungava  Post  was  nearly  all  gone. 

Akonuk  had  been  instructed  by  Mr.  Mac- 
Pherson  to  discover  the  whereabouts  of  these 
very  Eskimos  and  arrange  with  two  of  them  to 
go  on  with  Bob,  after  which  he  and  Matuk  were 
to  secure  from  them  food  for  themselves  and 
their  team  and  return  to  Ungava. 

A  good  part  of  the  hardtack,  boiled  pork  and 
venison  still  remained,  for,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
game  they  had  killed  on  the  way  had  pretty 
nearly  been  enough  for  their  wants.  It  was  for- 
tunate for  Bob  that  they  had  these  provisions, 
which  required  no  cooking,  for  otherwise  he 
would  have  had  to  eat  the  raw  seal  as  the  Eski- 
mos did.  They  understood  his  aversion  to  do- 
ing this,  and  generously,  and  at  the  same  time 
preferably,  perhaps,  ate  the  uncooked  meat 
themselves,  and  left  the  other  for  him. 

March  passed  into  April,  and  daily  the  situa 
don  grew  more  desperate,  as  the  provisions  di» 


242  UNGAVA  BOB 

minished  with  each  sunset.  Bob  was  worried. 
It  began  to  look  as  though  he  and  the  Eskimos 
were  doomed  to  perish  on  this  miserable  island 
He  was  sorry  now  that  he  had  not  waited  at  Un- 
gava  for  the  ship,  and  been  more  patient,  for 
then  he  would  have  reached  Eskimo  Bay  in 
safety.  At  first  the  Eskimos  were  very  cheerful 
and  apparently  quite  unconcerned,  and  this  con- 
soled him  somewhat  and  made  him  more  confi- 
dent ;  but  finally  even  they  were  showing  signs 
of  restlessness. 

Every  day  he  was  becoming  more  familiar 
with  their  language  and  could  understand  more 
and  more  of  their  conversation,  and  he  drew 
from  it  and  their  actions  that  they  considered  the 
situation  most  critical.  Back  of  the  igloos  was  a 
hill  a  couple  of  hundred  feet  high,  and  many 
times  each  day  the  men  of  the  camp  would  climb 
it  and  look  long  and  earnestly  to  the  north, 
where  the  heaving  billows  of  Hudson  Straits  and 
the  sky  line  met,  broken  only  here  and  there  by 
huge  icebergs  that  towered  like  great  crystal 
mountains  above  the  water.  They  were  watch- 
ing for  the  ice  field  that  they  hoped  would  drift 
down  with  each  tide  to  bridge  the  sea  that  sepa- 
rated them  from  the  distant  mainland. 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  SEA          243 

The  early  April  days  were  growing  long  and 
the  sun's  rays  shining  more  directly  upon  the 
world  were  gaining  power,  though  not  yet 
enough  to  bring  the  temperature  up  to  zero  even 
at  high  noon,  but  enough  to  remind  the  men 
that  winter  was  aging,  and  the  ice  hourly  less 
likely  to  come  back. 

One  of  the  Eskimos,  Tuavituk  by  name,  was 
an  Angakok,  or  conjurer,  and  claimed  to  possess 
special  powers  which  permitted  him  to  commu- 
nicate with  Torngak,  the  Great  Spirit  who  ruled 
their  fortunes  just  as  the  Manitou  rules  the  for- 
tunes of  the  Indians.  Tuavituk  one  day  an- 
nounced to  the  assembled  Eskimos  that  some- 
thing had  been  done  to  displease  Torngak,  and 
to  punish  them  he  had  caused  the  storm  to  come 
that  had  so  suddenly  carried  away  the  ice  and 
left  them  marooned  upon  this  desolate  island, 
and  here  they  would  all  perish  eventually  of  star- 
vation unless  Torngak  were  appeased. 

This  announcement  occasioned  a  long  discus- 
sion as  to  what  the  cause  of  their  trouble  could 
have  been.  One  old  Eskimo  suggested  that  the 
ice  had  broken  up  at  the  very  moment  that  the 
kablunok — stranger — arrived,  and  that  his  pres- 
ence was  undoubtedly  the  disturbing  influence 


244  UNGAVA  BOB 

White  men,  he  said,  showed  no  respect  foj 
Torngak,  and  it  was  quite  reasonable,  therefore, 
that  Torngak  should  resent  it  and  wish  not  only 
to  destroy  the  white  men,  but  punish  the  innuit 
who  gave  the  kablunok  shelter  or  assistance. 
If  this  were  the  case  they  could  only  hope  for  re- 
lief after  first  driving  Bob  from  their  camp. 
When  once  purged  of  his  presence  Torngak 
would  be  satisfied,  he  would  send  the  ice  back 
into  the  bay  and  they  would  be  enabled  to  re- 
turn to  the  mainland  and  to  renew  their  hunt- 
ing, 

A  long  discussion  followed  this  harangue  in 
which  all  the  men  took  part  with  the  exception 
of  Tuavituk,  who  as  Angakok  reserved  his  opin- 
ion until  it  should  be  called  for  in  a  professional 
way ;  and  all  agreed  with  the  first  speaker  save 
Akonuk  and  Matuk,  who,  being  visitors,  spoke 
last. 

Akonuk  asserted  that  he  and  Matuk  had 
travelled  with  the  kablunok  all  the  way  from  Un- 
gava  and  had  enjoyed  during  that  time  not  only 
perfect  safety  and  comfort,  but  had  made  an  un- 
usually quick  and  lucky  journey,  killing  all  the 
ptarmigans  and  small  game  they  wanted,  and 
experiencing  with  the  exception  of  one  snow* 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  SEA          245 

storm  excellent  weather  until  they  approached 
Kangeva.  Then  the  ill  wind  blew  upon  them 
and  brought  disaster  as  they  came  to  the  camp 
on  the  island ;  therefore  it  seemed  quite  certain 
that  not  the  kablunok  but  some  of  the  innuit  in 
the  camp  had  offended  the  great  Torngak,  and 
amongst  themselves  they  must  look  for  the  cause 
of  their  misfortune. 

Matuk  followed  this  speech  with  an  address  in 
which  he  bore  out  Akonuk's  statements,  and, 
doubtless  having  in  mind  Bob's  plentiful  supply 
of  tea,  of  which  beverage  Matuk  was  passionately 
fond  and  partook  freely,  he  stated  it  as  his 
opinion  that  the  presence  of  the  kablunok  had 
actually  been  the  source  of  the  good  luck  they 
had  had  previous  to  their  arrival  at  Kangeva. 
Then  he  wound  up  with  the  startling  announce- 
ment that  he  believed  he  knew  the  cause  of 
Torngak's  anger :  that  on  the  very  day  of  their 
arrival  he  had  seen  Chealuk — one  of  the  old 
women — sewing  a  netsek — sealskin  adikey— • 
with  the  sinew  of  the  tukto — reindeer. 

Every  one  turned  to  Chealuk  for  confirmation 
and  she  said  simply, 

0  It  is  true." 

The  Eskimos  were  struck  dumb  with  horror. 


246  UNGAVA  BOB 

This,  then,  was  the  cause  of  their  trouble.  Foi 
the  women  to  work  with  any  part  of  the  rein- 
deer while  the  men  were  hunting  seals  was  one 
of  the  greatest  affronts  that  could  be  offered  the 
Great  Spirit  Torngak  had  been  insulted  and 
angered.  He  must  be  appeased  and  mollified  at 
any  cost 

Tuavituk,  the  Angakok,  it  was  decided,  must 
do  some  conjuring.  He  must  get  into  imme- 
diate communication  with  Torngak  and  learn 
the  spirit's  wishes  and  demands  and  what  must 
be  done  to  dispel  the  evil  charm  that  Chealuk 
had  worked  by  her  thoughtlessness.  Tauvituk 
was  quite  willing — indeed  anxious — to  do  this, 
but  he  demanded  to  be  well  paid  for  it,  and 
every  man  had  to  contribute  some  valuable  pelt 
or  article  of  clothing. 

When  all  preparations  for  the  seance  had  been 
made  the  Angakok's  head  was  covered  and  in  a 
few  moments  he  began  to  utter  untelligible  ex- 
clamations, which  were  shortly  punctuated  by 
shouts  and  screams  and  ravings.  He  fell  to  the 
floor  and  seemed  stricken  with  a  fit,  and  Boh 
thought  the  man  had  gone  stark  mad.  He  struck 
out  and  grasped  those  within  his  reach,  and 
they  were  glad  to  escape  from  his  iron  clutch. 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  SEA          247 

For  several  minutes  this  wild  frenzy  lasted  before 
he  said  an  intelligible  word. 

"The  deerl  The  deer!  The  deer's  sinew! 
Chealuk!  Chealuk!  Chealuk!  Torngak!  The 
evil  spirit  is  in  Chealuk  !  She  must  go  1  Must 
go  1  Send  Chealuk  away  1  Send  her  away  1 
Send  her  away  !  Send  her  away  1 " 

Finally  from  sheer  exhaustion  he  quieted  down 
and  came  out  of  his  trance.  He  probably 
thought  that  he  had  given  them  their  value's 
worth  and  what  they  had  wanted,  and  that  they 
should  be  satisfied. 

It  was  now  decreed  that,  this  being  the  direct 
command  of  Torngak,  Chealuk  must  be  expelled 
from  the  camp.  Some  even  asserted  that  she 
should  be  killed,  but  the  majority  decided  that 
as  Torngak  had  said  merely  that  "Chealuk 
must  go  "  that  meant  only  that  she  must  be  sent 
away.  If  this  did  not  prove  sufficient  to  counter- 
act their  ill  luck,  why  she  could,  after  a  reason- 
able time,  be  sought  out  and  dispatched,  if  she 
had  not  in  the  meantime  perished. 

The  feeble  old  woman  heard  it  all  with  out- 
ward stoic  indifference.  It  was  a  part  of  her  re- 
ligion and  she  probably  thought  the  punishment 
quite  just,  and  whatever  shrinking  of  spirit  sh* 


248  UNGAVA  BOB 

felt,  she  hid  it  heroically  from  the  others.  To 
have  been  killed  immediately  would  have  been 
more  humane  than  banishment,  for  the  latter 
only  meant  a  slower  but  just  as  sure  a  death, 
from  exposure  and  starvation. 

To  Bob,  who  had  listened  intently  and  was 
able  to  grasp  the  situation  in  a  general  way,  it 
seemed  heartless  in  the  extreme ;  but  his  pro- 
tests would  not  only  have  been  powerless  to 
move  the  Eskimos  from  their  purpose,  but  in  all 
probability  would  have  worked  harm  for  himself 
and  to  no  avail.  These  people  that  at  first  had 
seemed  so  amiable  and  hospitable,  and  almost 
childlike  in  their  nature,  had  been  by  theii 
heathen  superstitions  suddenly  transformed  into 
cruel,  unsympathetic  savages. 

"  Oh,"  thought  Bob,  "  if  I  had  but  heeded 
Sishetakushin's  warning  1 " 

But  it  was  too  late  now  to  repent  of  the  course 
he  had  taken  and  he  had  only  to  abide  by  it 
It  seemed  to  him  that  his  own  life  hung  by  a 
mere  thread  and  that  at  any  moment  some  fancy 
might  strike  them  to  sacrifice  him  too.  He  had 
indeed  but  barely  escaped  Chealuk's  fate,  and 
£he  next  time  he  might  not  be  so  fortunate. 

In  this  disturbed  state  of  mind  he  withdrew 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  SEA          249 

from  the  igloos  and  climbed  the  hill,  where  he 
stood  and  gazed  longingly  at  the  mainland  nUls 
to  the  southward,  wondering  where,  beyond  thco* 
cold,,  white  ranges,  lay  Wolf  Bight  and  his  littl* 
cabin  home,  warm  and  clean  and  tidy,  and 
whether  his  mother  and  father  and  Emily 
thought  him  safe  or  had  heard  of  his  disappear- 
ance and  were  mourning  him  as  dead.  And 
here  he  was  far,  far  away  in  the  north  and  hope- 
lessly— apparently — stranded  upon  a  desolate 
island  from  which  he  would  probably  never  es- 
cape and  never  see  them  again. 

Oh,  how  lonely  and  disconsolate  he  felt.  Every 
day  since  he  left  home  he  had  prayed  God  to 
keep  the  loved  ones  safe  and  to  take  him  back 
to  them. 

"  I  hopes  they're  safe  an'  Emily's  better,  but 
th'  Lard's  been  losin'  track  o'  me,"  he  said  to 
himself  with  a  wavering  faith. 

"  But  th'  Lard  took  me  safe  t'  Ungava,  an'  He 
must  be  watchin'  me,"  he  exclaimed  after  further 
thought  "An'  He's  been  rare  good  t*  me." 

Then  like  a  bulwark  to  lean  against  there 
came  to  him  the  words  of  his  mother  as  they 
parted  that  beautiful  September  morning : 

"  Don't  forget  your  prayers,  lad,  an'  remember 


250  UNGAVA  BOB 

your  mother's  prayin'  for  you  every  night  an* 
every  mornin'." 

And  Emily  had  said,  too,  that  she  would  ask 
God  every  night  to  keep  him  safe.  This  brought 
him  a  renewal  of  his  faith  and  he  argued, 

"  Th'  Lard'll  sure  not  be  denyin'  mother  an* 
Emily,  an'  they  askin'  He  every  day  t'  bring  me 
back.  He  sure  would  not  be  denyin'  they  fo» 
He  knows  how  bad  'twould  be  makin'  they  feel 
if  I  were  not  comin*  home.  An'  He  wouldn't 
bft  wantin*  that,  for  they  never  does  nothin*  f 
make  He  cross  with  un." 

This  thought  comforted  him  and  he  said  con- 
fidently to  himself, 

"  Th'  Lard'll  be  showin'  th'  way  when  th'  right 
time  comes  an'  I'll  try  t'  bide  content  till  then." 

But  there  was  little  in  the  surroundings  to 
warrant  Bob's  faith.  Looking  about  him  from 
the  hilltop  he  could  see  nothing  but  open  sea 
around  the  island  with  an  expanse  of  desolation 
beyond — snow,  snow  everywhere,  from  the 
water's  edge  to  where  the  rugged  mountains  to 
the  south  and  east  held  their  cold  heads  into  the 
gray  clouds  that  hid  the  sky  and  sun.  The  sea 
was  sombre  and  black.  Not  a  breath  of  air 
stirred,  not  a  sound  broke  the  silence  and  it 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  SEA         251 

seemed  almost  as  though  Nature  in  anxious  sus- 
pense watched  the  outcome  of  it  all.  But  Bob's 
faith  was  renewed — the  simple,  childlike  faith 
of  his  people — and  he  felt  better  and  more  con- 
tent with  himself  and  his  fortune. 

It  was  growing  diisk  when  he  returned  to  the 
igloos.  As  he  descended  the  hill  a  flake  of  snow 
struck  his  face  and  it  was  followed  by  others.  A 
breath  of  wind  like  a  blast  from  a  bellows 
swirled  the  flakes  abroad.  The  elements  were 
awakening. 

In  the  igloos  Akonuk  and  Matuk  were  brew- 
ing tea  for  supper  and  the  three  ate  in  silence. 

Bob  asked  once, 

"  What's  to  be  done  with  Chealuk  ?  w 

"  Nothing,"  they  answered  laconically. 

This  relieved  the  anxiety  he  felt  for  her,  and 
he  crawled  into  his  sleeping  bag  and  went  to 
sleep,  thinking  that  alter  all  the  judgment  of  the 
Angakok  was  a  mere  form,  not  to  be  executed 
literally. 

After  some  hours  Bob  awoke.  The  wind  was 
blowing  a  gale  outside.  He  could  hear  it  quite 
distinctly.  From  what  direction  it  came  he  could 
not  tell,  and  after  lying  awake  *or  a  long  while 
he  decided  to  arise  and  see. 


252  UNGAVA  BOB 

When  he  removed  the  block  of  snow  from  the 
igloo  entrance  and  crawled  outside  he  was  all 
but  smothered  by  the  swirling  snow  of  a  terrific, 
raging  blizzard.  HP  turned  his  back  to  the 
blast,  and  realized  that  it  came  from  the  north- 
east The  cold  was  piercing  and  awful.  The 
elements  which  had  been  held  in  subjection  for 
so  long  were  unleashed  and  were  venting  them 
selves  with  all  the  untamed  fury  of  the  North 
upon  the  world. 

As  he  turned  to  reenter  the  igloo  an  appari- 
tion brushed  past  him  rushing  off  into  the  night. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  he  shouted. 

But  the  wind  brought  back  no  answer  and 
overcome  with  a  feeling  of  trepidation  and  a 
sense  of  impending  tragedy,  half  believing  that 
he  had  seen  a  ghost,  he  crawled  back  to  his 
cover  and  warm  sleeping  bag  to  wonder. 

There  was  no  cessation  in  the  storm  or  change 
in  the  conditions  the  next  day.  In  the  morning 
while  they  were  drinking  their  hot  tea  Bob  told 
Akonuk  and  Matuk  of  the  apparition  he  had 
seen  in  the  night. 

n  That,"  they  said  in  awe,  "  was  the  spirit  of 
Torngak,"  and  Bob  was  duly  impressed. 

Upon  a    visit   later  to  the  other  igloos  he 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  SEA          253 

missed  Chealuk.  She  had  always  sat  in  one 
corner  plying  her  needle,  and  had  always  had  a 
word  for  him  when  he  came  in  to  pay  a  visit 
Her  absence  was  therefore  noticeable  and  Bob 
asked  one  of  the  Eskimos  where  she  was. 

"  Gone,"  said  the  Eskimo, 

And  this  was  all  he  could  learn  from  them. 
Poor  old  Chealuk  had  been  sent  away,  and  it 
must  have  been  she,  then,  that  he  had  seen  in 
the  darkness. 

That  night  Bob  was  aroused  again,  and  he 
immediately  realized  that  something  of  moment 
had  occurred.  Akonuk  and  Matuk  were  awake 
and  talking  excitedly,  and  through  the  shrieking 
of  the  gale  outside  came  a  distinct  and  unusual 
sound.  It  was  like  the  roar  of  distant  thunder, 
but  still  it  was  not  thunder.  He  sat  up  sharply 
to  learn  the  meaning  of  it  ali 


XXI 

ADRIFT  ON  THE  ICE 

THE  unusual  sound  that  Bob  heard  was 
the  pounding  of  ice  driven  by  the 
mighty  force  of  wind  and  tide  against 
the  island  rocks.  This  the  Eskimos  verified 
with  many  exclamations  of  delight  The  hoped 
for  had  happened  and  release  from  their  impris- 
onment was  at  hand.  Bob  thanked  God  for  re- 
membering them. 

"  I  were  thinkin'  th'  Lard  would  not  be  losin' 
sight  o"  me  now  He's  been  so  watchful  in  all  th' 
other  times  I  were  needin*  help,'*  said  he  as  he 
lay  down. 

To  the  Eskimos  it  was  a  proof  of  the  efficacy 
of  the  appeal  to  the  Angakok. 

During  the  next  day  the  high  wind  and  snow 
continued  until  dusk.  Then  the  weather  began 
to  calm  and  before  morning  the  sky  was  clear 
and  the  stars  shining  cold  and  brilliant,  and  the 
sun  rose  clear  and  beautiful.  Kangeva  Bay,  a 
solid  field  of  ice  again,  as  it  was  when  Bob  first 
354 


ADRIFT  ON  THE  ICE  255 

saw  it,  stretched  away  unbroken  and  white  to 
the  northward. 

No  time  was  lost  in  making  preparations  for 
their  escape.  The  komatiks  were  packed  at 
once  with  the  camp  goods  and  the  little  food 
that  still  remained,  the  dogs  were  harnessed  and 
a  quick  march  took  them  safely  to  the  main- 
land. 

Here  the  Eskimos  had  an  ample  cache  of  sea\ 
and  walrus  meat  killed  earlier  in  the  season. 
New  igloos  were  built,  as  the  old  ones  in  use  be- 
fore they  transferred  to  the  island  were  not  con- 
sidered comfortable,  the  previous  occupancy  hav- 
ing softened  the  interior  snow,  which  was  now 
encrusted  with  a  thin  glaze  of  ice  and  this  glaze 
prevented  a  free  circulation  of  air. 

Bob  wanted  to  go  on  without  delay  but 
Akonuk  and  Matuk  had  found  none  of  the  Eski- 
mos willing  to  proceed  with  him.  It  was  there- 
fore necessary  for  them  to  go  with  him  until  an- 
other camp  was  reached,  and  they  insisted  upon 
delaying  the  start  a  day  in  order  as  they  said  to 
give  the  dogs  a  good  feed  and  get  them  in  bet- 
ter shape  for  the  journey,  as  they  for  some  time 
had  been  fed  only  each  alternate  day  instead  ol 
eveiy  day  as  was  customary,  and  even  then  had 


256  UNGAVA  BOB 

received  but  half  their  usual  portion.  This 
seemed  quite  reasonable,  but  when  Bob  saw  his 
friends  a  little  later  consuming  raw  seal  meat 
themselves  in  enormous  quantities,  he  concluded 
that  the  dogs  were  not  the  only  object  of  their 
consideration. 

They  were  still  busily  engaged  arranging  their 
new  quarters  when  one  of  the  Eskimos  called  the 
attention  of  the  others  to  a  black  object  far  out 
upon  the  ice  in  the  direction  from  which  they  had 
come.  Slowly  it  tottered  towards  them  and  in  a 
little  while  it  was  made  out  to  be  old  Chealuk, 
who  had  been  in  hiding  somewhere  on  the  island. 
The  poor  old  woman,  nearly  starved  and  with 
frozen  hands  and  feet,  was  barely  able  to  drag 
herself  into  camp.  Some  of  the  men  protested 
against  receiving  her  but  she  was  finally  permit- 
ted to  enter  the  igloos  and  take  up  her  old  place, 
though  with  the  understanding  that  she  should 
leave  again  immediately  at  the  first  indication  of 
Torngak's  displeasure. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  Bob  to  know  that  she 
had  not  perished.  The  old  woman  had  only 
been  able  to  keep  from  freezing  to  death,  as  he 
learned,  by  hollowing  out  a  place  in  a  snow-bank 
in  which  to  lie  and  letting  the  snow  drift  thickly 


ADRIFT  ON  THE  ICE  257 

over  her  and  remaining  there  until  the  storm  had 
spent  itself. 

"  Sure  I'm  glad  t'  see  she  back  again,"  thought 
Bob,  and  he  voiced  the  sentiment  to  Matuk. 

"Atsuk" — I  don't  know — said  the  Eskimo 
with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

While,  as  we  have  seen,  none  of  the  Eskimos 
would  take  the  place  of  Akonuk  and  Matuk, 
they  gave  them  sufficient  seal  meat  and  blubber 
for  a  two  weeks'  journey,  and  early  the  next 
morning  the  march  eastward  was  resumed. 

Bob  was  now  driven  to  eating  seal  meat,  as  all 
his  other  provisions  were  exhausted,  though, 
fortunately,  he  still  had  an  abundance  of  tea. 
He  had  often  eaten  seal  meat  at  home  and  was 
rather  fond  of  it  when  it  was  properly  cooked, 
but  now  no  wood  with  which  to  make  a  fire  was 
to  be  had.  The  land  was  absolutely  barren,  and 
even  the  moss  was  so  deeply  hidden  beneath  the 
snow  it  could  not  be  resorted  to  for  this  purpose. 
Evenings  in  the  igloo  he  boiled  some  meat  over 
the  stone  lamp — enough  to  last  him  through  the 
following  day — but  at  best  he  could  get  it  but 
partially  cooked.  However,  he  soon  learned  not 
to  mind  this  much,  for  hunger  is  the  best  im- 
aginable sauce,  and  in  the  cold  of  the  Arctic 


85»  UNGAVA  BOB 

north  one  can  eat  with  a  relish  what  could  not 
be  endured  in  a  milder  climate. 

For  several  days  they  traversed  mountain 
passes  where  they  were  shut  in  by  towering, 
rugged  peaks  which  seemed  to  reach  to  the 
very  heavens.  Bleak  and  desolate  as  the  land- 
scape was  it  possessed  a  magnificence  and  grand- 
eur that  demanded  admiration  and  called  forth 
Bob's  constant  wonder.  He  would  gaze  up  at 
the  mysterious  white  summits  and  ejaculate, 

"  Tis  grand  !     Tis  wonderful  grand  I " 

Such  mountains  he  had  never  seen  before,  and 
like  all  wilderness  dwellers  he  was  a  lover  of 
Nature's  beauties  and  a  close  observer  of  her 
wonders. 

It  was  near  the  middle  of  April  now  and  the 
sun's  rays,  reflected  by  the  snow,  were  growing 
dazzlingly  bright  and  beginning  to  affect  their 
eyes.  Goggles  should  have  been  worn  as  a  pro- 
tection against  this  glare  but  they  had  none  and 
did  not  trouble  to  make  them  until  one  night 
Matuk  found  that  he  was  overtaken  by  a  slight 
attack  of  snow-blindness.  This  is  an  extremely 
painful  affliction  which  does  not  permit  the  suf' 
ferer  to  approach  the  light  or,  in  fact,  so  much 
as  open  his  eyes  without  experiencing  agony 


ADRIFT  ON  THE  ICE  259 

The  sensation  is  that  of  having  innumerable 
splinters  driven  into  the  eyeballs  with  the 
lids  when  opened  and  closed  grating  over  the 
splinters. 

While  diey  were  waiting  for  Matuk  to  recover 
his  eyesight  Akonuk  and  Bob  removed  one  of 
the  wooden  cross-bars  from  the  komatik  and 
with  their  knives  cut  from  it  three  pieces  each 
long  enough  to  fit  over  the  eyes  for  a  pair  of 
goggles.  These  were  rounded  to  fit  the  face  and 
a  place  whittled  out  for  the  nose  to  fit-  into. 
Then  hollow  places  were  cut  large  enough  to 
permit  the  eyelids  to  open  and  close  in  them, 
and  opposite  each  eye  hollow  a  narrow  slit  for 
the  wearer  to  look  through.  Then  the  interior 
of  the  eye  places  were  blackened  with  smoke  from 
the  stone  lamp,  and  a  thong  of  sealskin  was 
fastened  to  each  end  of  the  goggles  with  which 
to  tie  them  in  place  upon  the  head. 

Thus  a  pair  of  goggles  was  ready  for  each 
when,  after  a  three  days'  rest  Matuk's  eyes  were 
well  enough  for  him  to  continue  the  journey,  and 
by  constantly  wearing  them  on  days  when  the 
sun  shone,  further  danger  of  snow- blindness  was 
averted. 

Two  days  later,  upon  emerging  from  a  moun- 


260  UNGAVA  BOB 

tain  pass,  they  suddenly  saw  stretching  far  away 
to  the  eastward  the  great  ocean  ice.  The  sight 
sent  the  blood  tingling  through  Bob's  veins. 
Nearly  half  the  journey  from  Ungava  to  Eskimo 
Bay  had  been  accomplished  ! 

"  Th'  coast  1  Th'  coast  1 "  shouted  Bob.  "  Now 
I'll  be  gettin'  home  inside  a  month  1 " 

He  began  at  once  to  plan  the  surprise  he  had 
in  store  for  the  folk  and  an  early  trip  that  he 
would  make  over  to  the  Post,  when  he  would 
tell  Bessie  about  his  great  "cruise"  and  hear 
her  say  that  she  was  glad  to  see  him  back  again. 
But  Fortune  does  not  wait  upon  human  plans 
and  Bob's  fortitude  was  yet  to  be  tried  as  it 
never  had  been  tried  before. 

That  afternoon  an  Eskimo  village  of  snow 
igloos  was  reached.  The  Eskimos  swarmed  out 
to  meet  the  visitors  and  gave  them  a  whole- 
souled  welcome,  and  in  an  hour  they  were  quite 
settled  for  a  brief  stay  in  the  new  quarters. 

Akonuk  told  Bob  that  now  after  the  dogs, 
which  were  very  badly  spent,  had  a  few  days  in 
which  to  rest,  he  and  Matuk  would  turn  back  to 
Ungava.  They  would  try  to  arrange  for  two 
more  Eskimos  with  a  fresh  team  to  go  on  with 
him,  but  as  for  themselves,  even  were  the  dogs  in 


ADRIFT  ON  THE  ICE  26* 

condition  to  travel,  they  did  not  know  the  trail 
beyond  this  point 

The  Eskimos  here,  like  those  they  had  met  on 
the  island  at  Kangeva,  were  engaged  in  seal 
hunting,  and  none  of  the  men  seemed  to  care  to 
leave  their  work  for  a  long,  hard  journey  south. 
They  did  not  say,  however,  that  they  would  not 
go.  When  they  were  asked  their  answer  wa»» : 

"  In  a  little  while — perhaps." 

This  was  very  unsatisfactory  to  Bob  io  his 
anxious  frame  of  mind.  But  he  had  learned  that 
Eskimos  must  be  left  to  bide  their  time,  and  that 
no  amount  of  coaxing  would  hurry  them,  so  he 
tried  to  await  their  moods  in  patience.  He  un- 
derstood the  reluctance  of  the  men  to  go  away 
during  one  of  the  best  hunting  seasons  of  the 
year  and  could  not  find  fault  with  them  for  it 

The  seals  were  the  mainstay  of  then*  living  and 
to  lose  the  hunt  might  mean  privation.  They 
were  in  need  of  the  skins  for  clothing,  kayaks  and 
summer  tents,  and  the  flesh  and  blubber  for  food 
for  themselves  and  their  dogs,  and  the  oil  for 
their  stone  lamps. 

Later  in  the  season  they  would  harpoon  the 
animals  from  then*  kayaks,  but  this  was  the  great 
harvest  time  when  they  killed  them  by  spearing 


262  UNGAVA  BOB 

through  holes  in  the  ice  where  the  seals  came  at 
intervals  to  breathe,  for  a  seal  will  die  unless  it 
can  get  fresh  air  occasionally.  Early  in  the 
morning  each  Eskimo  would  take  up  his  posi- 
tion near  one  of  these  breathing  holes,  and  there, 
with  spear  poised,  not  moving  so  much  as  a  foot, 
sometimes  for  hours  at  a  time,  await  patientl) 
the  appearance  of  a  seal,  which,  having  many 
similar  holes,  might  not  chance  to  come  to  this 
particular  one  the  whole  day, 

The  spear  used  had  a  long,  wooden  handle, 
with  a  barbed  point  made  of  metal  or  ivory,  and 
so  arranged  that  the  barbed  point  came  off  the 
handle  after  it  had  been  driven  into  the  animaL 
To  the  point  was  fastened  one  end  of  a  long  seal- 
skin line,  the  other  end  of  which  the  hunter  tied 
about  his  waist. 

The  moment  a  seal's  nose  made  its  appear- 
ance at  the  breathing  hole  the  watchful  Eskimo 
drove  the  spear  into  its  body.  Then  began  a 
tug  of  war  between  man  and  seal,  and  some- 
times the  Eskimos  had  narrow  escapes  from  be- 
ing pulled  into  the  holes. 

The  seals  of  Labrador,  it  should  be  explained, 
are  the  hair,  and  not  the  fur  seals  such  as  are 
bund  in  the  Alaskan  waters  and  the  South  Sea 


ADRIFT  ON  THE  ICE  263 

There  are  five  varieties  of  them,  the  largest  of 
which  is  the  hood  seal  and  the  smallest  the  doter 
or  harbour  seal.  The  square  flipper  also  grows 
to  a  very  large  size.  The  other  two  kinds  are 
the  jar  and  the  harp. 

These  all  have  different  names  applied  to  them 
according  to  their  age.  Thus  a  new-born  harp 
is  a  "  puppy,"  then  a  "  white  coat "  ;  when  it  is 
old  enough  to  take  to  the  water,  which  is  within 
a  fortnight  after  birth,  it  becomes  a  "  paddler,"  a 
little  later  a  "  bedlamer,"  then  a  "  young  harp  " 
and  finally  a  harp.  The  handsomest  of  them  all 
is  the  "  ranger,"  as  the  young  doter  is  called. 

Finally,  one  evening  when  all  the  men  were 
assembled  in  the  igloos  after  their  day's  hunt, 
Akonuk  announced  that  he  and  Matuk  were  to 
return  home  the  next  morning.  This  renewed 
the  discussion  as  to  who  should  go  on  with  Bob, 
and  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  two  young  fel- 
lows— Netseksoak  and  Aluktook — with  the  prom 
ise  that  Mr.  Forbes  would  reward  them  for  aiding 
to  bring  the  letters  which  Bob  carried,  volun- 
teered to  make  the  journey. 

This  settled  the  matter  to  Bob's  satisfaction 
and  it  was  agreed  that,  as  the  season  was  far  ad- 
vanced, it  would  be  necessary  to  start  at  once  in 


264  UNGAVA  BOB 

order  to  give  the  two  men  time  to  reach  home 
again  before  the  spring  break-up  of  the  ice. 

Long  before  daylight  the  next  morning  the 
Eskimos  were  lashing  the  load  on  the  komatik 
and  at  dawn  the  dogs  were  harnessed  and  every- 
thing ready.  Bob  said  good-bye  to  Akonuk  and 
Matuk  and  the  two  teams  took  different  direc- 
tions and  were  soon  lost  to  each  other's  view. 

"  Twill  not  be  long  now,"  said  Bob  to  him- 
self, "  an'  we  gets  t'  th'  Bay." 

The  sun  at  midday  was  now  so  warm  that  it 
softened  the  snow,  which,  freezing  towards  even- 
ing, made  a  hard  ice  crust  over  which  the 
komatik  slipped  easily  and  permitted  of  very 
fast  travelling  until  the  snow  began  to  soften 
again  towards  noon.  Therefore  the  early  part  of 
the  day  was  to  be  taken  advantage  of. 

The  new  team,  containing  eleven  dogs,  was 
really  made  up  of  two  small  teams,  one  of  six 
dogs  belonging  to  Netseksoak  and  the  other  of 
five  dogs  the  property  of  Aluktook.  At  first  the 
two  sets  of  dogs  were  inclined  to  be  quarrelsome 
and  did  not  work  well  together.  At  the  very 
start  they  had  a  pitched  battle  which  resulted  in 
the  crippling  of  Aluktook's  leader  to  such  an  ex- 
tent that  for  two  days  it  was  almost  useless 


ADRIFT  ON  THE  ICE  265 

However,  with  the  good  going  fast  time  was 
made.  Usually  they  kept  to  the  sea  ice,  but 
sometimes  took  short  cuts  across  necks  of  land 
where,  as  had  been  the  case  near  Ungava,  the 
men  had  to  haul  on  the  traces  with  the  dogs. 

The  new  drivers  were  much  younger  men 
than  Akonuk  and  Matuk  and  they  were  in  many 
respects  more  companionable.  But  Bob  missed 
a  sort  of  fatherly  interest  that  the  others  had 
shown  in  him  and  did  not  rely  so  implicitly 
upon  their  judgment. 

Able  now  as  he  was  to  understand  very  much 
of  their  conversation,  he  took  part  in  the  discus- 
sion of  various  routes  and  expressed  his  opinion 
as  to  them ;  and  the  Eskimos,  who  at  first  had 
looked  upon  him  as  a  more  or  less  inexperienced 
kablunok,  soon  began  to  feel  that  he  knew  nearly 
as  much  about  dog  and  komatik  travelling  as 
they  did  themselves.  Thus  a  sort  of  good  fel- 
lowship developed  at  once. 

One  evening  after  a  hard  day's  travelling  as 
they  came  over  the  crest  of  a  hill  the  first  grove 
of  trees  that  Bob  had  seen  since  shortly  after 
leaving  Ungava  came  in  sight  It  was  the  most 
welcome  thing  that  had  met  his  view  in  weeks, 
and  when  the  dogs  were  turned  to  its  edge  and 


266  UNGAVA  BOB 

he  saw  a  small  shack,  he  knew  that  he  was  near- 
ing  again  the  white  man's  country. 

The  shack  was  found  to  have  no  occupants, 
but  it  contained  a  sheet  iron  stove  such  as  he  had 
used  in  his  tilts,  and  that  night  he  revelled  in  the 
warmth  of  a  fire  and  a  feast  of  boiled  ptarmigan 
and  tea. 

"  Tis  like  gettin'  back  t'  th'  Bay,"  said  Bob. 
and  he  asked  the  Eskimos,  "  Will  there  be  iglco- 
soaks  (shacks)  all  the  way?" 

"  Igloosoaks  every  night,"  answered  Aluktook, 

The  following  morning  a  westerly  breeze  was 
blowing  and  the  Eskimos  were  uncertain  whether 
to  keep  to  the  land  or  follow  the  sea  ice  along 
the  shore.  The  former  route,  they  explained  to 
Bob,  passed  over  high  hills  and  was  much  the 
harder  and  longer  one  of  the  two,  but  safer. 
The  ice  route  along  the  shore  was  smooth  and 
could  be  accomplished  much  more  quickly,  but 
at  this  season  of  the  year  was  fraught  with  more 
or  less  danger.  For  many  miles  the  shore  rose 
in  precipitous  rocks,  and  should  a  westerly  gale 
arise  while  they  were  passing  this  point,  the  ice 
was  likely  to  break  away  and  no  escape  could  be 
made  to  the  shore.  The  wind  blowing  then 
from  the  West  was  not  strong  enough  yet,  they 


ADRIFT  ON  THE  ICE  267 

said,  to  cause  any  trouble,  and  they  did  not 
think  it  would  rise,  but  still  it  was  uncertain. 

"  Which  way  should  they  go  ?  " 

Bob's  experience  at  Kangeva  made  him  hesi- 
tate for  a  moment,  but  his  impatience  to  reach 
home  quickly  got  the  better  of  his  judgment; 
and,  especially  as  the  Eskimos  seemed  inclined 
to  prefer  the  outside  route,  he  joined  them  in 
their  preference  and  answered, 

"We'll  be  goin'  outside." 

And  the  outside  route  they  took. 

All  went  well  for  a  time,  but  hourly  the  wind 
increased.  The  dogs  were  urged  on,  but  the 
wind  kept  blowing  them  to  leeward  and  they  be- 
gan to  show  signs  of  giving  out  Finally  a  veri- 
table gale  was  blowing  and  the  Eskimos'  faces 
grew  serious. 

They  were  now  opposite  that  part  of  the  shore 
where  it  rose  a  perpendicular  wall  of  rock  tower- 
ing a  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and  offered  no 
place  of  refuge.  So  they  hurried  on  as  best  they 
could  in  the  hope  of  rounding  the  walls  and 
making  land  before  the  inevitable  break  came. 
Presently  Aluktook  shouted, 

"  Emuk  I    Emuk !  "—the  water !  the  water  I 

Bob  and  Netseksoak  looked,  and  a  ribbon 


266  UNGAVA  BOB 

of  black  water  lay  between  them  and  the 
shore. 

They  lashed  the  dogs  and  shouted  at  them  un- 
til they  were  hoarse,  in  a  vain  effort  to  urge  them 
on.  The  poor  brutes  lay  to  the  ice  and  did  their 
best,  but  it  was  quite  hopeless.  In  an  incredibly 
short  time  the  ribbon  had  widened  into  a  gulf  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  wide.  Then  it  grew  to  a  mile, 
and  presently  the  shore  became  a  thin  black  line 
that  was  soon  lost  to  view  entirely.  They  were 
adrift  on  the  wide  Atlantic  ! 

They  stopped  the  dogs  when  they  realized  that 
further  effort  was  useless  and  sat  down  on  the 
komatik  in  impotent  dismay. 

The  weather  had  grown  intensely  cold  and  the 
perspiration  that  the  excitement  and  exertion  had 
brought  out  upon  their  faces  was  freezing. 
Snow  squalls  were  already  beginning  and  before 
nightfall  a  blizzard  was  raging  in  all  its  awful 
fury  and  at  any  moment  the  ice  pack  was  liable 
to  go  to  pieces. 


XXII 

THE  MAID  OF  THE  NORTH 

*  r  I  ^HE'S  no  profit  in  this  trade  any  more," 
said  Captain  Sam  Hanks,  as  he  sat 
down  to  supper  with  his  mate,  Jack 
Simmons,  in  the  little  cabin  of  his  schooner, 
Maid  of  the  North.  "  I  won't  get  a  seaman's 
wages  out  o'  th5  cruise,  an'  I'm  sick  o'  workin* 
fer  nothin'.  Now  there  was  a  time  before  th' 
free  traders  done  th'  business  t'  death  that  a 
man  could  make  good  money  on  th'  Labrador, 
but  that  time's  past.  They  pays  so  much  fer  th' 
fur  they's  spoiled  it  fer  everybody,  an'  I'm  goin* 
t'  quit." 

"  Th'  free  traders  don't  go  north  o'  th'  Straits 
much.  Why  don't  ye  try  it  there,  sir?"  sug- 
gested the  mate. 

"  Ice.  Too  much  ice.  I've  been  thinkin*  it 
over.  Th'  trouble  is  we  couldn't  get  through  th1 
ice  in  th'  spring  until  after  th'  Hudson's  Bay  peo- 
ple had  gobbled  up  everything.  Th'  natives 
down  that  coast  is  poor  as  Job's  turkey,  an*  they 

has  t*  sell  their  fur  soon's  th'  furrin'  season's 
269 


*70  UNGAVA  BOB 

over.  I  hears  th'  company  gets  th'  fur  from  em 
fer  a  song.  Them  natives  '11  give  ye  a  silver  fox 
fer  a  jackknife  an*  a  barrel  o'  flour,  an'  a  marten 
fe^r  a  gallon  o'  molasses.  But  the's  money  in  it  if  a 
•f  olier  could  get  there  in  time,"  he  added  thought- 
fully. 

"  What's  th'  matter  with  goin'  down  in  th'  fall 
before  th'  ice  blocks  th'  coast?  Th'  Maid  dtti 
North  is  sheathed  fer  ice,  an'  we  could  freeze  her 
in,  some  place  down  th'  coast,  an'  be  on  hand  t* 
sail  when  th'  ice  clears  in  th'  spring.  We  could 
let  th'  folks  know  where  we  were  t'  freeze  up,  an' 
we'd  pick  up  a  lot  o'  fur  before  th'  ice  breaks, 
an*  th'  natives'd  hold  th'  rest  until  we  calls  comin* 
south.  The's  a  big  chanct  there,"  said  the  mate, 
conclusively. 

"  I  dunno  but  yer  right  I  hadn't  thought  o* 
goin*  down  in  th'  fall  t'  freeze  up.  We'd  have 
t'  be  gettin'  t*  our  anchorage  by  th'  first  o'  Oc- 
tober." 

"  The's  plenty  o'  time  t'  do  that,  sir.  Twon't 
take  more'n  ten  days  t'  fit  out. ' 

"  Then  the's  th'  cost  o*  shippin'  th'  crew  t*  be 
taken  into  account,  'n  havin'  'em  doin'  nothin* 
th*  hull  winter.  I  don't  know*s  the'd  be  much  in 
it  after  everythin's  counted  out" 


THE  MAID  OF  THE  NORTH       271 

••  That's  easy  'nuff  fixed.  Take  a  lot  of  traps 
an*  let  th'  crew  hunt  in  th'  winter.  Ye  wouldn't 
have  t*  pay  'em  then  when  ye  wasn't  afloat.  Ye 
could  give  'em  their  keep  an'  let  'em  hunt  with 
th'  traps  on  shore  an'  make  a  little  outen  'em. 
The's  always  fools  'nuff  as  thinks  they'll  get  rich 
if  they  has  a  chanct  t'  try  their  hand  doin'  some- 
thin'  they  ain't  been  doin'  before,  an'  you  kin  get 
a  crew  o'  fellers  like  that  easy  'nuff." 

"  I  dunno.  Maybe  I  kin  an'  maybe  I  can't 
Sounds  like  it's  worth  tryin'  an*  I'll  think  about 
it." 

Every  spring  for  ten  years  Captain  Hanks — 
Skipper  Sam  he  was  generally  called — had  sailed 
out  of  Halifax  Harbour  with  his  schooner  Maid 
of  the  North  to  work  his  way  into  the  Gulf  of  St. 
Lawrence  when  the  waters  were  clear  of  ice,  and 
trade  a  general  cargo  of  merchandise  for  furs 
with  the  Indians  and  white  trappers  along  the 
north  shore  and  the  Straits  of  Belle  Isle — the 
southern  Labrador. 

At  first  he  found  the  trade  extremely  lucrative, 
and  during  the  first  four  or  five  years  in  which  he 
was  engaged  in  it  accumulated  a  snug  sum  ot 
money,  the  income  of  which  would  have  been 
quite  sufficient  to  keep  him  comfortably  the  re- 


«72  UNGAVA  BOB 

mainder  of  his  life  in  the  modest  way  in  which  he 
lived. 

But  Skipper  Sam  was  much  like  other  people, 
and  the  more  he  had  the  more  he  wanted,  so  he 
continued  in  the  fur  trade.  The  fact  that  he  had 
purchased  some  city  real  estate  for  the  purpose 
of  speculation  became  known,  and  other  skippers 
sailing  schooners  of  their  own,  with  an  eye  to 
lucrative  trade,  decided  that  "  Skipper  Sam  must 
be  havin*  a  darn  good  thing  on  th'  Labrador,"  and 
when  the  Maid  of  the  North  made  her  fifth  voy- 
age she  had  another  schooner  to  keep  her  com- 
pany,  and  another  skipper  was  on  hand  to  com- 
pete with  Skipper  Sam. 

Each  year  had  brought  additions  to  the  trad- 
ing fleet,  and  competition  had  raised  the  price  of 
fur  until  now  the  trappers,  with  a  ready  market, 
were  growing  quite  independent,  and  Skipper 
Sam,  instead  of  paying  what  he  pleased  for  the 
pelts,  which,  when  he  had  a  monopoly  of  the 
trade,  was  a  merely  nominal  price  as  compared 
with  their  value,  was  forced  in  order  to  get  them 
at  all  to  pay  more  nearly  their  true  worth. 

Even  now  he  was  making  a  fair  profit,  but  his 
mind  constantly  reverted  to  the  "good  old 
days  "  when  his  returns  were  from  five  hundred 


THE  MAID  OF  THE  NORTH       273 

co  a  thousand  per  cent  on  his  investment,  and 
he  felt  injured  and  dissatisfied.  At  the  end  of 
every  voyage  he  declared  solemnly  that  he  was 
no  longer  making  more  than  seamen's  wages 
and  would  quit  the  trade,  and  the  mate,  who 
was  well  aware  of  the  captain's  comfortable 
financial  position,  always  believed  he  meant  it 

It  should  be  said  to  Captain  Hanks'  credit 
that  he  paid  his  mate  and  crew  of  five  men 
the  highest  going  wages,  and  treated  them  well 
and  kindly  So  long  as  they  attended  strictly 
to  their  duties  he  was  their  friend.  They  were 
provided  with  the  best  of  food  and  they  appre- 
ciated the  good  treatment  and  were  loyal  to  Cap- 
tain Hanks'  interest  and  very  much  attached  to 
the  Maid  of  the  North,  as  seamen  are  to  a  good 
ship  that  for  several  voyages  has  been  their 
home. 

So  it  was  that  the  mate  made  his  suggestions 
so  freely.  If  Captain  Hanks  were  to  quit  the 
trade*  he  knew  that  it  would  be  many  a  day  be- 
fore he  secured  another  such  berth,  and  his 
solicitude  was  therefore  not  alone  in  the  cap- 
tain's interests  but  was  largely  a  matter  of  look- 
ing out  for  himself. 

The  voyage  just  completed  had  not,  in  fact; 


174  UNGAVA  BOB 

been  a  very  profitable  one,  for  the  previous  win- 
ter had  been  a  poor  year  for  the  trappers  that 
they  dealt  with,  just  as  it  had  been  farther  north 
in  Eskimo  Bay,  and  Skipper  Sam  had  good 
reason  for  feeling  discouraged. 

It  was  early  in  August  now,  and  the  Maid  of 
the  North  was  entering  Halifax  Harbour  with  the 
expectation  of  tying  up  at  her  berth  the  next 
morning.  If  she  were  to  go  north  it  would  be 
necessary  for  her  to  be  fitted  out  for  the  voyage 
immediately  in  order  to  reach  her  winter  quar- 
ters before  the  ice  began  to  form  in  the  bays. 

The  two  men  ate  their  supper  and  both  went 
on  deck  to  smoke  their  pipes.  Skipper  Sam 
had  no  more  to  say  about  the  proposed  under- 
taking until  late  in  the  evening,  when  he  called 
the  mate  to  his  cabin,  where  he  had  re- 
tired after  his  smoke,  and  there  the  mate  found 
him  poring  over  a  chart 

"D'ye  know  anything  about  this  coast?  '  the 
skipper  asked,  without  looking  up. 

The  mate  glanced  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Not  much,  sir.  I  was  down  on  a  fishin? 
cruise  once  when  I  was  a  lad/' 

"  Well,  how  far  down  ought  we  t*  go,  d'  ye 
think,  before  we  lays  up?" 


THE  MAID  OF  THE  NORTH       275 

"  I  think,  sir,  we  should  go  north  o*  Indian 
Harbour.  Th'  farther  north  we  gets,  th'  more  fur 
<*re'll  pick  up." 

"  Well,"  said  the  skipper,  standing  up,  "  I'm 
goin' 1'  sail  just  as  quick  as  I  can  fit  out  Ship 
th'  crew  on  th'  best  terms  ye  can.  We  got  t' 
move  smart,  fer  I  wants  time  t'  run  well  down 
before  th'  ice  catches  us." 

"  All  right,  sir." 

Thus  it  happened  that  the  Maid  of  the  North, 
spick  and  span,  with  a  new  coat  of  paint  on  the 
outside,  and  a  good  stock  of  provisions  and 
articles  of  trade  in  •  her  hold,  sailed  out  of 
Halifax  Harbour  and  turned  her  prow  to  the 
northward  on  the  first  day  of  September,  and 
was  plowing  her  way  to  the  Labrador  at  the 
very  time  that  Bob  Gray  with  his  mother  and 
Emily  were  returning  so  disconsolate  to  Wolf 
Bight  after  hearing  the  verdict  of  the  mail  boat 
doctor,  and  Bob  was  making  the  plans  that  car- 
ried him  into  the  interior. 

The  Maid  of  the  North  called  at  many  har- 
bours by  the  way  and  the  fame  of  Captain  Hanks 
spread  amongst  the  livyeres,  as  the  native  Labra- 
dormen  are  called.  He  told  them  what  fabulous 
prices  he  would  pay  them  for  their  furs  hi  the 


276  UNGAVA  BOB 

spring  when  he  came  south  with  open  water, 
and  they  promised  him  to  a  man  to  reserve  the 
bulk  of  their  catch  for  him,  and  all  had  visions 
of  coming  wealth, 

It  was  decided  that  they  winter  in  the  Harbour 
of  God's  Hope,  just  north  of  Cape  Harrigan, 
and  after  passing  Indian  Harbour  the  natives 
were  notified  that  if  they  wished  any  supplies 
during  the  winter  they  could  bring  their  furs 
there  and  get  what  they  needed. 

The  Harbour  of  God's  Hope  was  found  to  be 
a  deep,  narrow  inlet,  not  as  well  protected  from 
the  sea  as  might  be  desired,  but  still  compara- 
tively well  sheltered,  and  particularly  advanta- 
geous from  the  fact  that  the  shores  of  the  upper 
end  of  the  inlet  were  wooded,  an  essential 
feature,  as  it  provided  an  abundance  of  good 
fuel,  and  the  supply  on  board  was  far  from  ade- 
quate for  their  needs. 

The  Maid  or  the  North  was  made  as  snug  as 
possible  for  the  freeze-up,  but  could  not  be 
brought  as  dose  to  shore  as  desirable,  because  of 
shoals.  However,  her  position  was  deemed 
quite  safe,  and  Skipper  Sam  experienced  a  sense 
of  supreme  satisfaction  at  his  achievements  and 
the  prospects  for  a  profitable  trade  in  the  spring 


THE  MAID  OF  THE  NORTH       27* 

The  crew  were  put  at  work  immediately  to 
build  a  log  shack  for  shore  quarters,  which  was 
shortly  accomplished.  This  shack  was  of  ample 
size  and  was  furnished  with  a  stove  brought  from 
Halifax  for  the  purpose,  some  chairs,  a  table  and 
a  kitchen  outfit 

The  skipper,  the  mate  and  the  cook  remained 
on  board  at  first,  but  the  crew  were  given  per- 
mission to  go  ashore  and  hunt  and  trap  in  the 
hills  back  of  the  harbour,  an  opportunity  of 
which  they  promptly  took  advantage. 

As  the  cold  weather  came  on  and  the  ice 
formed  thick  and  hard  around  the  vessel  it 
seemed  unnecessary  to  keep  a  watch  aboard,  and 
as  the  shack  was  much  more  roomy  than  the 
cabin,  and  therefore  more  comfortable,  all  hands 
finally  took  up  their  quarters  in  it. 

As  the  winter  wore  on  livyeres  began  to  pay 
frequent  visits  to  Skipper  Sam  from  up  and  down 
the  coast,  and  they  all  brought  furs  to  trade. 
With  the  approach  of  spring  the  skipper  found 
to  his  satisfaction  that  he  had  already  collected 
more  pelts  than  he  had  been  able  to  purchase  on 
his  previous  spring's  voyage  in  the  South,  and  at 
prices  that  even  to  him  seemed  ridiculously  low. 
These  furs  were  duly  stored  aboard  the  MaidoJ 


*78  UNGAVA  BOB 

the  North,  and  by  the  first  of  May  she  bad  a 
cargo  that  could  have  been  disposed  of  in  Hali- 
fax or  Montreal  for  several  thousand  dollars. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  .skipper  suggested 
to  the  mate  one  evening, 

"  Jack,  les  go  caribou  huntin'  t'-morrer.  I'm 
gettin'  stiff  hangin'  'round  here." 

"  All  right,  sir,"  acquiesced  the  mate,  "  but," 
he  asked,  "  th'  crew's  all  away  exceptin'  th'  cook, 
an'  who'll  look  after  things  here  if  we  both  goes 
t'  once  ?  " 

"  We  kin  leave  the  cook  alone  fer  one  day  I 
guess.  If  any  o'  th'  livyeres  come  he  kin  keep 
'em  till  we  comes  back  in  th'  evenin'." 

The  arrangements  were  therefore  made  for  the 
hunt,  and  the  following  morning  bright  and  early 
they  were  off. 

At  sunrise  there  was  a  slight  westerly  breeze 
blowing,  and  the  skipper  suggested, 

"  Th'  wind  might  stiffen  up  a  bit  an"  we  bet- 
ter keep  an  eye  to  it." 

They  were  well  back  in  the  hills  before  the 
predicted  stiffening  came  to  such  an  extent  that 
they  decided  it  was  wise  to  return  to  the  shack. 

Skipper  Sam  and  his  mate  were  not  accus- 
tomed to  land  travelling  and  the  hurried  retreat 


THE  MAID  OF  THE  NORTH       279 

soon  winded  them  and  they  were  held  down  to  so 
slow  a  walk  that  the  afternoon  was  half  spent  and 
the  wind  had  grown  to  a  gale  when  they  finally 
came  in  view  of  the  harbour.  Skipper  Sam  was 
ahead,  and  when  he  looked  towards  the  place 
where  the  Maid  of  the  North  had  been  snugly 
held  in  the  ice  in  the  morning  he  rubbed  his  eyes. 
Then  he  looked  again,  and  exclaimed : 

"  By  gum ! " 

The  harbour  was  clear  of  ice  and  nowhere  on 
the  horizon  was  the  Maid  of  the  North  to  be  seen. 
The  gale  had  swept  the  ice  to  sea  and  carried 
with  it  the  Maid  of  the  North  and  all  her  valuable 
cargo.  The  cook,  asleep  in  his  bunk  in  the 
shack,  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  calamity 
when  the  skipper  roused  him  to  demand  expla- 
nations. 

But  there  were  no  explanations  to  be  given. 
The  schooner  was  gone,  that  was  all,  and  Cap- 
tain Sam  Hanks  and  his  crew  were  stranded 
upon  the  coast  of  Labrador. 


XXIII 

THE  HAND  OF  PROVIDENCE 

BOB  and  his  companions  were  indeed  in  a 
most  desperate  situation,  and  even  they, 
accustomed  and  inured  as  they  were  to 
the  vicissitudes  and  rigours  of  the  North,  could 
see  no  possible  way  of  escape.  Men  of  less 
courage  or  experience  would  probably  have  re- 
signed themselves  to  their  fate  at  once,  without 
one  further  effort  to  preserve  their  lives,  and  in 
an  hour  or  two  have  succumbed  to  the  bitter 
cold  of  the  storm.  But  these  men  had  learned 
to  take  events  as  they  came  largely  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  they  did  not  for  a  moment 
lose  heart  or  self-control. 

The  dogs  were  driven  a  little  farther  towards 
the  interior  of  the  ice,  for  if  the  pack  were  to 
break  up  the  outer  edge  would  be  the  first  to 
go.  Here  immediate  preparations  were  made  to 
camp. 

There  was  no  bank  from  which  snow  blocks 
could  be  cut  for  an  igloo,  and  the  blinding 
380 


THE  HAND  OF  PROVIDENCE      281 

snow  so  obscured  their  surroundings  that  they 
could  not  so  much  as  find  a  friendly  ice  hum* 
mock  to  take  refuge  behind.  The  gale,  in  fact, 
was  so  fierce  that  they  could  scarce  hold  their 
feet  against  it,  and  had  they  released  their  hold 
of  the  komatik  even  for  an  instant,  it  is  doubt- 
ful if  they  could  have  found  it  again. 

The  deerskin  sleeping  bags  were  unlashed  and 
the  sledge  turned  upon  its  side.  In  the  lee  of  this 
the  bags  were  stretched  upon  the  ice  and  with 
their  skin  clothes  on  they  crawled  into  them. 
Each  called  "  Oksunae  " — be  strong — have  cour- 
age— to  the  others,  and  then  drew  his  head  within 
the  tolds  of  his  skin  covering. 

Bob  wore  the  long,  warm  coat  that  Manikawan 
had  made  for  him,  and  as  he  snuggled  close  into 
the  bag  he  thought  of  her  kindness  to  him,  and 
he  dreamed  that  night  that  he  had  gone  back  and 
found  her  waiting  for  him  and  looking  just  as 
she  did  the  morning  she  waved  him  farewell,  as 
she  stood  in  the  light  of  the  cold  winter  moon-  - 
tall  and  graceful  and  comely,  with  the  tears  glis- 
tening in  her  eyes. 

The  dogs,  still  in  harness,  lay  down  where 
they  stood,  and  in  a  little  while  the  snow,  which 
found  lodgment  against  the  komatik,  covered 


282  UNGAVA  BOB 

men  and  dogs  alike  in  one  big  drift  and  the 
weary  travellers  slept  warm  and  well  regardless 
of  the  fact  that  at  any  moment  the  ice  might  part 
and  they  be  swallowed  up  by  the  sea. 

The  storm  was  one  of  those  sudden  outbursts 
of  anger  that  winter  in  his  waning  power  inflicts 
upon  the  world  in  protest  against  the  coming 
spring  supplanting  him,  and  as  a  reminder  that 
he  still  lives  and  carries  with  him  his  withering 
rod  of  chastisement  and  breath  of  destruction. 
But  he  was  now  so  old  and  feeble  that  in  a  single 
night  his  strength  was  spent,  and  when  morning 
dawned  the  sun  arose  with  a  new  warmth  and  the 
wind  had  ceased  to  blow. 

The  men  beneath  the  snow  did  not  move.  It 
was  quite  useless  for  them  to  get  up.  There  was 
nothing  that  they  could  do,  and  they  might  as 
well  be  sleeping  as  wandering  aimlessly  about 
the  ice  field. 

The  dogs,  however,  thought  differently. 
They  had  not  been  fed  the  previous  night,  and 
bright  and  early  they  were  up,  nosing  about 
within  the  limited  area  afforded  them  by  the 
length  of  their  traces.  One  of  them  began  to  dig 
away  the  snow  around  the  komatik.  He  paused, 
held  his  nose  into  the  drift  a  moment  and 


THE  HAND  OF  PROVIDENCE      283 

sniffed,  then  went  vigorously  to  work  again  with 
his  paws.  Soon  he  grabbed  something  in  his 
fangs.  The  others  joined  him,  and  the  snarling 
and  fighting  that  ensued  aroused  Bob  and  the 
sleeping  Eskimos. 

Aluktook  was  the  first  to  throw  off  the  snow 
and  look  out  to  see  what  the  trouble  was  about 
Then  he  shouted  and  jumped  to  his  feet,  kicking 
the  dogs  with  all  his  power.  Bob  and  Netsek- 
soak  sprang  to  his  aid,  but  they  were  too  late. 

The  dogs  had  devoured  every  scrap  of  food 
they  had,  save  some  tea  that  Bob  kept  in  a  small 
bag  in  which  he  carried  his  few  articles  of  dun- 
nage. 

This  was  a  terrible  condition  of  affairs,  for 
though  they  were  doubtless  doomed  to  drown 
with  the  first  wind  strong  enough  to  shatter  the 
ice,  still  the  love  of  living  was  strong  within 
them,  and  they  must  eat  to  live. 

Separating  and  going  in  different  directions, 
the  three  hunted  about  in  the  vain  hope  that 
somewhere  on  the  ice  there  might  be  seals  that 
they  could  kill,  but  nowhere  was  there  to  be  seen 
a  living  thing — nothing  but  one  vast  field  of  ice 
reaching  to  the  horizon  on  the  north,  east  and 
south  To  the  west  the  water  sparkled  in  the 


284  UNGAVA  BOB 

sunlight,  but  no  land  and  no  life,  human  en 
otherwise,  was  within  the  range  of  vision. 

After  a  time  they  returned  to  their  bivouac 
and  then  drove  the  dogs  a  little  farther  into  the 
ice  pack  to  a  high  hummock  that  Aluktook  had 
found,  and  with  an  axe  and  snow  knives  cut 
blocks  of  ice  from  the  hummock  and  snow  from 
a  drift  on  its  lee  side,  and  finally  had  a  fairly  sub- 
stantial igloo  built  This  they  made  as  comfort- 
able as  possible,  and  settled  in  it  as  the  last 
shelter  they  should  ever  have  in  the  world,  as 
they  all  firmly  believed  it  would  prove. 

They  were  now  driven  to  straits  by  thirst,  but 
there  was  not  a  drop  of  water,  save  the  salt  sea 
water,  to  be  had. 

"We'll  have  to  burn  the  komatik,"  said 
Aluktook. 

Netseksoak  knocked  two  or  three  cross-bars 
from  it  and  built  a  miniature  fire,  using  the  wood 
with  the  greatest  possible  economy,  and  by  this 
means  melted  a  kettle  of  ice,  and  Bob  brewed 
some  tea. 

The  warm  drink  was  stimulating,  and  gave 
them  renewed  ambition.  They  separated  again 
in  search  of  game,  but  again  returned,  towards 
evening,  empty  handed. 


THE  HAND  OF  PROVIDENCE       285 

"Too  late  for  seals,"  the  Eskimos  remarked 
laconically. 

All  were  weak  from  lack  of  food,  and  when 
they  gathered  at  the  igloo  it  was  decided  that 
one  of  the  dogs  must  be  killed. 

"  We'll  eat  Amulik,  he's  too  old  to  work  any- 
way," suggested  Netseksoak. 

Amulik,  the  dog  thus  chosen  for  the  sacrifice^ 
was  a  fine  old  fellow,  one  of  Netseksoak's  dogs 
that  had  braved  the  storms  of  many  winters. 
The  poor  brute  seemed  to  understand  the  fate  in 
store  for  him,  for  he  slunk  away  when  he  saw 
Netseksoak  loading  his  gun.  But  his  retreat  was 
useless,  and  in  a  little  while  his  flesh  was  stored 
in  the  igloo  and  the  Eskimos  were  dining  upon 
it  uncooked. 

Though  Bob  was,  of  course,  very  hungry,  he 
declined  to  eat  raw  dog  meat,  and  to  cook  it  was 
quite  out  of  the  question,  for  the  little  wood  con- 
tained in  the  komatik  he  realized  must  be  re- 
served for  melting  ice,  as  otherwise  they  would 
have  nothing  to  drink.  Another  day,  however, 
and  he  was  so  driven  to  the  extremes  of  hunger 
that  he  was  glad  to  take  his  share  of  the  raw 
meat  which  to  his  astonishment  he  found  not  only 
most  palatable  but  delicious,  for  there  is  a  time 


286  UNGAVA  BOB 

that  comes  to  every  starving  man  when  even  the 
most  vile  and  putrid  refuse  can  be  eaten  with  a 
relish. 

The  dog  meat  was  carefully  divided  into  daily 
portions  for  each  man.  Some  of  it,  of  course, 
had  to  go  to  the  remaining  animals,  to  keep  them 
alive  to  be  butchered  later,  if  need  be,  for  this 
was  the  only  source  of  food  the  destitute  men 
had. 

Every  day  Bob  and  the  Eskimos  wandered 
over  the  ice,  hoping  against  hope  that  some 
means  of  escape  might  be  found.  Bob  realized 
that  nothing  but  the  hand  of  Providence,  by  some 
supernatural  means,  could  save  him  now.  Again, 
he  said, 

"  Th'  Lard  this  time  has  sure  been  losin*  track 
o'  me.  Maybe  'tis  because  when  He  were  showin' 
me  a  safe  trail  over  th*  hills  I  were  not  willin'  f 
bide  His  time  an*  go  that  way,  but  were  comin" 
by  th*  ice  after  thf  warnin*  at  Kangeva." 

But  he  always  ended  his  musings  with  the 
comfortable  recollection  of  his  mother's  prayers, 
which  had  helped  him  so  much  before,  and  this 
did  more  than  anything  else  to  keep  him  cour- 
ageous and  brave. 

The  days  came  and  went,  each  as  empty  as  its 


THE  HAND  OF  PROVIDENCE       287 

predecessor,  and  each  night  brought  less  proba- 
bility of  escape  than  the  night  before. 

Another  dog  was  killed,  and  a  week  passed. 

The  komatik  wood  was  nearly  gone,  although 
bat  one  small  fire  was  built  each  day,  and  the 
ead  of  their  tea  was  in  sight 

This  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  Bob  wan- 
dered one  day  farther  to  the  southward  over 
the  pack  ice  than  usual,  and  suddenly  saw  in 
the  distance  a  moving  object.  At  first  he  im- 
agined that  it  was  a  bit  of  moving  ice,  so  near 
was  it  to  the  colour  of  the  field.  This  was 
quite  impossible,  however,  and  approaching  it 
stealthily,  he  soon  discovered  that  it  was  a  polar 
bear. 

The  animal  was  wandering  leisurely  to  the 
south.  Bob  carried  the  rifle  that  Mr.  MacPher- 
son  had  given  him,  as  he  always  did  on  these 
occasions,  and  keeping  in  the  lee  of  ice  hum- 
mocks, that  he  might  not  be  seen  by  the  bear,  ran 
noiselessly  forward.  Finally  he  was  within  shoot- 
ing distance  and,  raising  the  gun,  took  aim  and 
fired. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  of  weakness  through 
improper  food,  or  possibly  as  the  result  of  too 
much  eagerness,  but  the  aim  was  unsteady  and 


*88  UNGAVA  BOB 

the  bullet  only  grazed  and  slightly  wounded  the 
bear. 

The  brute  growled  and  turned  to  see  what  it 
was  that  had  struck  him.  When  it  discovered 
its  enemy  it  rose  on  its  haunches  and  offered 
battle. 

Bob  was  for  a  moment  paralyzed  by  the  im- 
mense proportions  that  the  bear  displayed,  and 
almost  forgot  that  he  had  more  bullets  at  his  dis- 
posal. But  he  quickly  recalled  himself  and  throw ' 
ing  a  cartridge  into  the  chamber,  aimed  the  rifle 
more  carefully  and  fired  again.  This  time  the 
bullet  went  true  to  the  mark,  and  the  great  body 
fell  limp  to  the  ice. 

As  he  surveyed  the  carcass  a  moment  later  he 
patted  his  rifle,  and  said  ; 

"  'Tis  sure  a  rare  fine  gun.  I  ne'er  could  ha' 
killed  un  wr*  my  old  un.".  "Now  th*  Lard 
must  be  watchin'  me  or  He  wouldn't  ha'  sent 
di'  bear,  an*  He  wouldn't  ha'  sent  un  if  He 
weren't  wantin*  us  t'  live.  Th'  Lard  must  be 
hearin'  mother's  an'  Emily's  prayers  now,  after 
all— He  must  be." 

The  bear  was  a  great  windfall.  It  would  give 
Bob  and  the  Eskimos  food  for  themselves  and  oil 
for  their  lamp,  and  the  lad  was  imbued  with 


THE  HAND  OF  PROVIDENCE       289 

hope  as  he  hurried  off  to  summon  Netseksoak 
and  Aluktook  to  aid  him  in  bringing  the  carcass 
to  the  igloo. 

The  afternoon  was  well  advanced  before  he 
found  the  two  Eskimos,  and  when  he  told  them  of 
his  good  fortune  they  were  very  much  elated,  and 
all  three  started  back  immediately  to  the  scene  of 
the  bear  hunt  As  they  approached  it  Aluktook 
shouted  an  exclamation  and  pointed  towards  the 
south.  Bob  and  Netseksoak  looked,  and  there, 
dimly  outlined  in  the  distance  but  still  plainly 
distinguishable,  was  the  black  hull  of  a  vessel 
with  two  masts  glistening  in  the  sunshine. 

"  'Tis  th'  hand  o'  Providence  I "  exclaimed  Bob, 

The  three  shook  hands  and  laughed  and  did 
everything  to  show  their  delight  short  of  hug- 
ging each  other,  and  then  ran  towards  the  ves- 
sel, suddenly  possessed  of  a  vague  fear  that  it 
might  sail  away  before  they  were  seen.  Bob 
fired  several  shots  out  of  his  rifle  as  he  ran,  to 
attract  the  attention  of  the  crew,  but  as  they  ar> 
proached  they  could  see  no  sign  of  life,  and  they 
soon  found  that  it  was  a  schooner  frozen  tight 
and  fast  in  the  ice  pack. 

When  they  at  last  reached  it  Bob  read,  painted 
in  bold  letters,  the  name,  "  Maid  of  the  North." 


XXIV 

THE  ESCAPE 

THEY  lost  no  time  in  climbing  on  deck, 
and  what  was  their  astonishment  when 
they  reached  there  to  find  the  vessel 
quite  deserted.  Everything  was  in  spick  and 
span  order  both  in  the  cabin  and  above  decks. 
It  was  now  nearly  dark  and  an  examination  of 
her  hold  had  to  be  deferred  until  the  following 
day.  One  thing  was  certain,  however.  No  one 
had  occupied  the  cabin  for  some  time,  and  no 
one  had  boarded  or  left  the  vessel  since  the  last 
snow-storm,  for  no  footprints  were  to  be  found  on 
the  ice  near  her. 

It  was  truly  a  great  mystery,  and  the  only  so- 
lution that  occurred  to  Bob  was  that  the  ice  pack 
had  '•  pinched  "  the  schooner  and  opened  her  up 
below,  and  the  crew  had  made  a  hurried  escape 
in  one  of  the  boats.  This  he  knew  sometimes 
occurred  on  the  coast,  and  if  it  were  the  case,  and 
her  hull  had  been  crushed  below  the  water  line, 
it  was  of  course  only  a  question  of  the  ice  break- 
ing up,  which  might  occur  at  any  time,  when  she 
290 


THE  ESCAPE  491 

would  go  to  the  bottom.  There  was  one  small 
boat  on  deck,  and  if  an  examination  in  the  morn- 
ing disclosed  the  unseaworthiness  of  the  craft, 
this  small  boat  would  at  least  serve  them  as  a 
means  of  escape  from  the  ice  pack. 

Whatever  the  condition  of  the  vessel,  the  night 
was  calm  and  the  ice  was  hard,  and  there  was  no 
probability  of  a  break-up  that  would  release  her 
from  her  firm  fastenings  before  morning ;  and 
they  decided,  therefore,  to  make  themselves  com- 
fortable aboard.  There  was  a  stove  in  the  cabin 
and  another  in  the  forecastle,  plenty  of  blankets 
were  in  the  berths,  and  provisions — actual  lux- 
uries— down  forward.  Bob  was  afraid  that  it 
was  a  dream  and  that  he  would  wake  up  pres- 
ently to  the  realities  of  the  igloo  and  raw  dog 
meat,  and  the  hopelessness  of  it  all. 

He  and  the  Eskimos  lighted  the  lamps,  started 
a  fire  in  the  galley  stove,  put  the  kettle  over, 
fried  some  bacon,  and  finally  sat  down  to  a 
feast  of  bacon,  tea,  ship's  biscuit,  butter,  sugar, 
and  even  jam  to  top  off  with.  It  was  the  best 
meaV,  Bob  declared,  that  he  had  ever  eaten  in 
all  his  life. 

"  An*  if  un  turns  out  t'  be  a  dream,  'twill  be  th' 
finest  kind  o'  one,"  was  his  emphatic  decision 


292  UNGAVA  BOB 


the  three  laughed  and  talked  aad  en- 
joyed themselves  over  their  supper,  and  how 
Bob  revelled  in  the  soft,  warm  blankets  of  Cap- 
tain Hanks'  berth  when  he  finally,  for  the  first 
time  in  weeks,  was  enabled  to  undress  and  crawl 
into  bed,  can  better  be  imagined  than  described. 

After  an  early  breakfast  the  next  morning  the 
first  care  was  to  examine  the  hold,  and  very 
much  to  their  satisfaction,  and  at  the  same  time 
mystification,  for  they  could  not  now  understand 
why  the  schooner  had  been  abandoned,  they 
found  the  hull  quite  sound  and  the  schooner  to 
all  appearances  perfectly  seaworthy. 

Another  astonishment  awaited  Bob,  too,  when 
he  came  upon  the  quantities  of  fur,  and  the  stock 
of  provisions  and  other  goods  that  he  found  be- 
low decks. 

"  Tis  enough  t'  stock  a  company's  post  !  "  he 
exclaimed.  But  its  real  intrinsic  value  was  quite 
beyond  his  comprehension. 

When  it  was  settled,  beyond  doubt,  that  the 
Maid  of  the  North  was  entirely  worthy  of  their 
confidence  and  in  no  danger  of  sinking,  the 
three  returned  to  the  igloo  and  transferred  their 
sleeping  bags  and  few  belongings,  as  well  as  the 
dogs*  to  their  new  quarters  on  board  of  her. 


THE  ESCAPE  293 

Alter  this  was  done  they  skinned  and  dressed 
the  polar  bear,  which  still  lay  upon  the  ice  where 
it  had  been  killed,  and  some  of  the  flesh  was 
ied  to  the  half  famished  dogs.  Bob  insisted 
upon  giving  them  an  additional  allowance,  after 
the  two  Eskimos  had  fed  them,  for  he  said  that 
they,  too,  should  share  in  the  good  fortune, 
though  Netseksoak  expressed  the  opinion  that 
the  dogs  ought  to  have  been  quite  satisfied  to 
escape  being  eaten. 

The  choicest  cuts  of  the  bear's  meat  the  men 
kept  for  their  own  consumption,  and  Bob  rescued 
the  liver  also,  when  Aluktook  was  about  to 
throw  it  to  the  dogs,  for  he  was  very  fond  of 
caribou  liver  and  saw  no  reason  why  that  of  the 
polar  bear  should  not  prove  just  as  palatable. 
He  fried  some  of  it  for  supper,  but  when  he 
placed  it  on  the  table  both  Aluktook  and  Netsek- 
soak refused  to  touch  it,  declaring  it  unfit  to  eat, 
and  warned  Bob  against  it. 

**  There's  an  evil  spirit  in  it,"  they  said  with 
conviction,  "  and  it  makes  men  sick." 

This  was  very  amusing  to  Bob,  and  disre- 
garding  then*  warning  he  ate  heartily  of  it  him- 
self, wondering  all  the  time  what  heathen  super- 
stition it  was  that  prejudiced  Eskimos  against 


194  UNGAVA  BOB 

such  good  food,  for,  as  he  had  observed,  they 
would  usually  eat  nearly  anything  in  the  way  of 
flesh,  and  a  great  many  things  that  he  would 
not  eat. 

In  a  little  while  Bob  began  to  realize  that 
something  was  wrong.  He  felt  queerly,  and 
was  soon  attacked  with  nausea  and  vomiting. 
For  two  or  three  days  he  was  very  sick  indeed 
and  the  Eskimos  both  told  him  that  it  was  the 
effect  of  the  evil  spirit  in  the  liver,  and  that  he 
would  surely  die,  and  for  a  day  or  so  he  be- 
lieved that  he  really  should. 

Whether  the  bear  liver  was  under  the  curse  of 
evil  spirits  or  was  in  itself  poisonous  were  ques- 
tions that  did  not  interest  Bob.  He  knew  it  had 
made  him  sick  and  that  was  enough  for  him,  and 
what  remained  of  the  liver  went  to  the  dogs, 
when  he  was  able  to  be  about  again. 

The  days  passed  wearily  enough  for  the  men 
in  their  floating  prison,  impatient  as  they  were 
at  their  enforced  inactivity,  but  still  helpless  t© 
do  anything  to  quicken  their  release.  May  was 
dragging  to  an  end  and  June  was  at  hand,  and 
still  the  ice  pack,  firm  and  unbroken,  refused  to 
loose  its  bands.  Slowly — imperceptibly  to  the 
watchers  on  board  the  Maid  «f  the 


THE  ESCAPE  295 

was  drifting  to  the  southward  on  the  bosom  of 
the  Arctic  current  But  the  sun,  constantly 
gaining  more  power,  was  rotting  the  ice,  and  it 
was  inevitable  that  sooner  or  later  the  pack  must 
fall  to  pieces  and  release  the  schooner  and  its 
occupants  from  their  bondage.  Then  would 
come  another  danger.  If  the  wind  blew  strong 
and  the  seas  ran  high,  the  heavy  pans  of  ice 
pounding  against  the  hull  might  crush  it  in 
and  send  the  vessel  to  the  bottom.  Therefore, 
while  longing  for  release,  there  was  at  the  same 
time  an  element  of  anxiety  connected  with 
it. 

Finally  the  looked  for  happened.  One  after- 
noon a  heavy  bank  of  clouds,  black  and  ominous, 
appeared  in  the  western  sky.  A  light  puff  of 
wind  presaged  the  blow  that  was  to  follow,  and 
in  a  little  while  the  gale  was  on. 

The  Maid  of  the  North,  it  will  be  understood, 
lay  in  bay  ice,  and  all  the  ice  to  the  south  of  her 
was  bay  ice.  This  was  much  lighter  than  that 
coming  from  more  northerly  points,  and  when 
the  open  sea  which  skirted  the  western  edge  of 
the  field  began  to  rise  and  sweep  in  upon  this 
rotten  ice  the  waves  crumbled  and  crumpled  it 
up  before  their  mighty  force  like  a  piece  of  card- 


296  UNGAVA  BOB 

board.  It  was  a  time  of  the  most  intense  anxiety 
for  the  three  men. 

Just  at  dusk,  amid  the  roar  of  wind  and  smash- 
ing ice,  the  vessel  gave  a  lurch,  and  suddenly  she 
was  free.  Fortunately  her  rudder  was  not  car- 
ried away,  as  they  had  feared  it  would  be,  and 
when  she  answered  the  helm,  Bob  whispered, 

«  Thank  th'  Lard." 

They  were  at  the  mercy  of  the  wind  during  the 
next  few  hours,  and  there  was  little  that  could  be 
done  to  help  themselves  until  towards  morning, 
when  the  gale  subsided.  Then,  with  daylight, 
under  short  sail  they  began  working  the  vessel 
out  of  the  "slob"  ice  that  surrounded  it,  and 
before  dark  that  night  were  in  the  open  sea,  with 
now  only  a  moderate  breeze  blowing,  which  for- 
tunately had  shifted  to  the  northward. 

Here  they  found  themselves  beset  by  a  new 
peril.  Icebergs,  great,  towering,  fearsome  masses, 
lay  all  about  them,  and  to  make  matters  worse  a 
thick  gray  fog  settled  over  the  ocean,  obscuring 
everything  ten  fathoms  distant.  They  brought 
the  vessel  about  and  lay  to  in  the  wind,  but  even 
then  drifted  dangerously  near  one  towering  ice 
mass,  and  once  a  berg  that  could  not  have  been 
half  a  mile  away  turned  over  with  a  terrifying 


THE  ESCAPE  297 

roar.  It  seemed  as  though  a  collision  was  inev- 
itable before  daylight,  but  the  night  passed  with- 
out mishap,  and  when  the  morning  sun  lifted  the 
fog  the  ship  was  still  unharmed. 

There  was  no  land  anywhere  to  be  seen. 
What  position  they  were  in  Bob  did  not  know, 
and  had  no  way  of  finding  out.  He  did  know, 
however,  that  somewhere  to  the  westward  lay  the 
Labrador  coast,  and  this  they  must  try  to  reach. 

Fortunately  he  could  read  the  compass,  and 
by  its  aid  took  as  nearly  as  possible  a  due  wes- 
terly course. 

Alutook  and  Netseksoak,  expert  as  they  were 
in  the  handling  of  kayaks,  had  no  knowledge  of 
the  management  of  larger  craft  like  the  Maid  of 
the  North,  and  without  question  accepted  Bob  as 
commander  and  followed  his  directions  implicitly 
and  faithfully ;  and  he  handled  the  vessel  well, 
for  he  was  a  good  sailor,  as  all  lads  of  the  Lab- 
rador are. 

They  made  excellent  headway,  and  were  fa- 
voured with  a  season  of  good  weather,  and  like 
the  barometer  Bob's  spirits  rose.  But  he  dared 
to  plan  nothing  beyond  the  present  action.  A 
hundred  times  he  had  planned  and  pictured  the 
home-coming,  but  each  tune  Fate,  or  the  wiH  of 


298  UNGAVA  BOB 

a  Providence  that  he  could  not  understand,  had 
intervened,  and  with  the  crushing  of  each  new 
hope  and  the  wiping  out  of  each  delightful  pic- 
ture that  his  imagination  drew,  he  decided  to  look 
not  into  the  future,  but  do  his  best  in  the  present 
and  trust  to  Providence  for  the  rest,  for,  as  he 
expressed  it, 

"  Th'  Lard's  makin'  His  own  plans  an1  He's 
not  wantin'  me  t'  be  meddlin'  wi'  un,  an'  so  He's 
not  lettin'  me  do  th'  way  I  lays  out  t'  do,  an'  I'll 
be  makin'  no  more  plans,  but  takin'  things  as  they 
comes  along." 

In  this  frame  of  mind  he  held  the  vessel  stead- 
ily to  her  course  and  kept  a  constant  lookout  for 
land  or  a  sail,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  third 
day  after  the  release  from  the  ice  pack  was  re- 
warded by  a  shout  from  Netseksoak  announcing 
land  at  last.  Eagerly  he  looked,  and  in  the  dis- 
tance, dimly,  but  still  there,  appeared  the  shore 
in  low,  dark  outline  against  the  horizon. 

Towards  noon  a  sail  was  sighted,  and  late  in 
the  afternoon  they  passed  within  hailing  distance 
of  a  fishing  schooner  bound  down  north.  He 
shouted  to  the  fishermen  who,  at  the  rail,  were 
curiously  watching  the  Maid  of  the  North,  as  she 
plowed  past  them. 


"fte  held  the  vessel  steadily  to  her  course" 


THE  ESCAPE  299 

"  What  land  may  that  be  ?  "  pointing  at  a  high, 
rocky  head  that  jutted  out  into  the  water  two 
miles  away. 

"Th'  Devil's  Head,"  came  the  reply. 

"  An'  what's  th'  day  o'  th'  month  ?  " 

"  Th'  fifteenth  o'  June,"  rang  out  the  answer. 
*  Where  un  hail  from?" 

"Ungava,"  Bob  shouted  to  the  astonished 
skipper,  who  was  now  almost  out  of  hearing. 

The  information  that  the  land  was  the  Devil's 
Head  came  as  joyful  news  to  Bob.  He  had 
often  heard  of  the  Devil's  Head,  and  knew  that 
it  lay  not  far  from  the  entrance  to  Eskimo  Bay, 
and  therefore  in  a  little  while  he  believed  he 
should  see  some  familiar  landmarks. 

Bob's  hopes  were  confirmed,  and  before  dark 
the  Twin  Rocks  near  Scrag  Island  were  sighted, 
and  as  they  came  into  view  his  heart  swelled  and 
his  blood  tingled.  He  was  almost  home ! 

That  night  they  lay  behind  Scrag  Island,  and 
with  the  first  dawn  of  the  morning  were  under 
way  again.  The  wind  was  fair,  and  before  sun- 
set the  Maid  of  the  North  sailed  into  Fort  Peli- 
can Harbour  and  anchored. 

Bob's  heart  beat  high  as  he  stepped  into  the 
small  boat  to  row  ashore,  for  the  whitewashed 


500  UNGAVA  BOB 

buildings  of  the  Post,-  the  air  redolent  with  the 
perfume  of  the  forest,  and  the  howling  dogs  told 
him  that  at  last  the  dangers  of  the  trail  and  sea 
were  all  behind  him  and  of  the  past,  and  that  he 
would  soon  be  at  home  again. 

Mr.  Forbes  was  at  the  wharf  when  Bob  landed, 
and  when  he  saw  who  it  was  exclaimed  in  aston- 
ishment : 

"  Why  it's  Bob  Gray  !  Where  in  the  world, 
or  what  spirit  land  did  you  come  from  ?  Why 
Ed  Matheson  brought  your  remains  out  of  the 
bush  last  winter  and  I  hear  they  were  buried  the 
other  day." 

"  I  comes  from  Ungava,  sir,  with  some  letters 
Mr.  MacPherson  were  sendin',"  answered  Bob, 
as  he  made  the  painter  fast. 

"  Letters  from  Ungava !  Well,  come  to  the 
office  and  we'll  see  them.  I  want  to  hear  how 
you  got  here  from  Ungava." 

In  the  office  Bob  told  briefly  the  story  of  his 
adventures,  while  he  ripped  the  letters  from  his 
shirt,  where  he  had  sewed  them  in  a  sealskin 
covering  for  safe  keeping. 

"  Has  un  heard,  sir,  how  mother  an'  Emily  an* 
father  is?"  he  asked  as  he  handed  over  the 
mail. 


THE  ESCAPE  301 

**  Mr.  MacDonald  sent  his  man  down  the  other 
day,  and  he  told  me  your  mother  took  it  pretty 
hard,  when  they  buried  you  last  week,  although 
she  has  stuck  to  it  all  along  that  the  remains  Ed 
brought  out  were  not  yours  and  you  were  alive 
somewhere.  Emily  don't  seem  to  change. 
Your  father  and  nearly  every  one  else  in  the  Bay 
has  had  a  good  hunt.  Go  out  to  the  men's 
kitchen  for  your  supper  now  and  when  you've 
eaten  come  back  again  and  we'll  talk  things  over." 

In  the  kitchen  he  heard  some  exaggerated  de- 
tails of  Ed's  journey  out,  and  something  of  the 
happenings  up  the  bay  during  the  winter.  When 
ne  had  finished  his  meal  he  returned  to  the 
office,  where  Mr.  Forbes  was  waiting  for  him. 

"  Well,  Ungava  Bob,  as  Mr.  MacPherson  calls 
you  in  his  letter,"  said  Mr.  Forbes,  "you've 
earned  the  rifle  he  gave  you,  and  you're  to  keep 
it.  Now  tell  me  more  of  your  adventures  since 
you  left  Ungava." 

Little  by  little  he  drew  from  Bob  pretty  com- 
plete details  of  the  journey,  and  then  told  him 
that  he  had  better  sail  the  Maid  of  the  North  up 
to  Kenemish,  where  Douglas  Campbell  and  his 
father  would  see  that  he  secured  the  salvage  due 
him  for  bringing  out  the  schooner 


302  UNGAVA  BOB 

*  An'  what  may  salvage  be,  sir?"  asked  Bob. 

"  Why,"  answered  Mr.  Forbes,  "  you  found 
the  schooner  a  derelict  at  sea  and  you  brought 
her  into  port.  When  you  give  her  back  to  the 
owner  he  will  have  to  pay  you  whatever  amount 
the  court  decides  is  due  you  for  the  service,  and 
it  may  be  as  much  as  one-half  the  value  of  the 
vessel  and  cargo.  You'll  get  enough  out  of  it  to 
settle  you  comfortably  for  life." 

Bob  heard  this  in  open-mouthed  astonishment 
It  was  too  good  for  him  to  quite  believe  at  first, 
but  Mr.  Forbes  assured  him  that  it  was  usual 
and  within  his  rights. 

They  arranged  that  Netseksoak  and  Aluktook 
should  go  with  him  to  Kenemish  and  later  return 
to  Fort  Pelican  to  be  paid  by  Mr.  Forbes  for  their 
services  and  to  be  sent  home  by  him  on  the 
company's  ship,  the  Eric,  on  its  annual  voyage 
north. 

Then  Bob,  after  thanking  Mr.  Forbes,  rowed 
back  to  the  Maid  of  the  North,  too  full  of  excite- 
ment and  anticipation  to  sleep. 

With  the  first  ray  of  morning  light  the  anchor 
was  weighed,  the  sails  hoisted  and  but  two  days 
by  between  Bob  and  home. 

As  he  stood  on  the  deck  of  the  Maid  of  th* 


THE  ESCAPE  303 

North  and  drank  in  the  wild,  rugged  beauty  of 
the  scene  around  him  Bob  thought  of  that  day, 
which  seemed  so  long,  long  ago,  when  he  and  his 
mother,  broken  hearted  and  disconsolate  were 
going  home  with  little  Emily,  and  how  he  had 
looked  away  at  those  very  hills  and  the  inspira- 
tion had  come  to  him  that  led  to  the  journey 
from  which  he  was  now  returning.  Tears  came 
to  his  eyes  and  he  said  to  himself, 

"  Sure  th'  Lard  be  good  'Twere  He  put  un  in 
my  head  t'  go,  an'  He  were  watchin'  over  me  an* 
carin'  for  me  all  th'  time  when  I  were  thinkin*  He 
were  losin'  track  cf  me,  I'll  never  doubt  th'  Lard 
bgain." 


XXV 

THE  BREAK-UP 

ONE  evening  a  month  after  Ed  Mathesoa 
started  out  with  his  gruesome  burden  to 
Wolf  Bight,  Dick  Blake  was  sitting  alone 
in  the  tilt  at  the  junction  of  his  and  Ed's  trails, 
smoking  his  after  supper  pipe  and  meditating  on 
the  happenings  of  the  preceding  weeks.  There 
were  some  things  in  connection  with  the  tragedy 
that  he  had  never  been  abte  to  quite  clear  up. 
Why,  for  instance,  he  asked  himself,  did  Micmac 
John  steal  the  furs  and  then  leave  them  in  the  tilt 
where  they  were  found?  Had  the  half-breed 
been  suddenly  smitten  by  his  conscience  ?  That 
seemed  most  unlikely,  for  Dick  had  never  di»- 
covered  any  indication  that  Micmac  possessed  a 
conscience.  No  possible  solution  of  the  problem 
presented  itself,  A  hundred  times  he  had  probed 
the  question,  and  always  ended  by  saying,  as  b-e 
did  now, 

"  'Tis  strange — wonderful  strange,  an'  I  can  ' 
make  un  out" 


THE  BREAK-UP  305 

He  arose  and  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe,  filled  the  stove  with  wood,  and  then  looked 
out  into  the  night  before  going  to  his  bunk.  It 
was  snowing  thick  and  fast 

**  'Tis  well  to-morrow's  Sunday,"  he  remarked. 
"  The's  nasty  weather  comin'." 

"  That  they  is,"  said  a  voice  so  close  to  his 
elbow  that  he  started  back  in  surprise, 

"  Why,  hello,  Ed.  You  were  givin*  me  a  rare 
start,  sneakin'  in  as  quiet's  a  rabbit  How  is 
un?" 

"  Fine,"  said  Ed,  who  had  just  come  around 
the  corner  of  the  tilt  in  time  to  hear  Dick's  re- 
mark in  reference  to  the  weather.  "Who  un 
talkin'to?" 

"To  a  sensible  man  as  agrees  wi'  me," 
answered  Dick  facetiously.  "  A  feller  does  get 
wonderful  lonesome  seein'  no  one  an*  has  t'  talk 
t'  hisself  sometimes." 

The  two  entered  the  tilt  and  Ed  threw  off  his 
adikey  while  Dick  put  the  kettle  over. 

"Well,"  asked  Dick,  when  Ed  was  finally 
seated,  "  how'd  th'  mother  take  un  ?  " 

"Rare  hard  on  th'  start  off,"  said  Ed. 
"  Twere  th'  hardest  thing  I  ever  done,  tellin'  she, 
an'  'twere  all  I  could  do  t'  keep  from  breakin' 


306  UNGAVA  BOB 

down  myself.     I  'most  cried,  I  were  feelin*  so  bad 
for  on. 

"Douglas  were  there  an'  Bessie  were  visitin* 
th'  sick  maid,  which  were  a  blessin',  fer  Richard 
were  away  on  his  trail. 

"I  goes  in  an'  finds  un  happy  an'  thinkin' 
maybe  Bob'd  be  comin'.  I  finds  th'  bones  get- 
tin'  weak  hi  my  legs,  soon's  I  sees  un,  an'  th' 
mother,  soon's  she  sees  me  up  an'  says  she's 
knowin1  somethin'  happened  t'  Bob,  an'  I  has  t* 
tell  she  wi'out  waitin*  t1  try  t'  make  un  easy's  I'd 
been  plannin'  t'  do.  She  'most  faints,  but  after  a 
while  she  asks  me  t'  tell  she  how  Bob  were  killed, 
an'  I  tells. 

"  Then  she's  wantin*  t'  see  a  bit  o'  the  clothes 
we  found,  an'  when  she  looks  un  over  she  raises 
her  head  an'  says,  '  Them  weren't  Bob's.  I 
knows  Bob's  clothes,  an'  them  weren't  his.' 
When  I  tells  'bout  findin'  two  axes  she  says  Bob 
were  havin'  only  one  axe,  an*  then  she's  believin* 
Bob  wasn't  got  by  th'  wolves,  an*  is  livin*  some- 
wheres. 

'*  Douglas  goes  for  Richard,  an'  when  Richard 
comes  he  says  th'  clothes's  Bob's  an'  th'  gun  ain'tt 
an'  Bob  were  navin'  only  one  axe. 

**  Richard's  not  aoubtin'  th'  remains  was  Bob> 


THE  BREAK-UP  307 

though,  an'  o'  course  the's  no  doubtin'  that.  Thf 
dothes's  gettin'  so  stained  up  I'm  thinkin*  th* 
motherM  not  be  knowin'  un.  But  Richard  sure 
would  be  knowin'  th'  gun,  an'  that's  what  I'm 
wonderin'  at" 

"  Tis  rare  strange,"  assented  Dick.  "An*  /'*» 
wonderin'  why  Micmac  John  were  leavin'  th'  fur 
in  th'  'tilt  after  stealin'  un.  That's  what  I'm 
wonderin'  at." 

The  whole  evening  was  thus  spent  in  discuss- 
ing the  pros  and  cons  of  the  affair.  They  both 
decided  that  while  the  gun  and  axe  question 
were  beyond  explanation,  there  was  no  doubt 
that  Bob  had  been  destroyed  by  wolves  and  the 
remains  that  they  found  were  his. 

The  plan  that  Bill  had  suggested  for  hunting 
the  trails  without  taking  Sunday  rest,  thus  en- 
abling them  to  attend  to  a  part  of  Bob's  Big  Hill 
trail,  was  resorted  to,  and  the  winter's  work  was 
the  hardest,  they  all  agreed,  that  they  had  ever 
put  in. 

January  and  February  were  excessively  cold 
months  and  during  that  period,  when  the  fur 
bearing  animals  keep  very  close  to  their  lairs, 
the  catch  was  indifferent  But  with  the  more 
moderate  weather  that  began  with  March  and 


$o8  UNGAVA  BOB 

continued  until  May  the  harvest  was  a  rich  one, 
for  it  was  one  of  those  seasons,  after  a  year  of 
unusual  scarcity,  as  the  previous  two  years  had 
been,  when  the  fur  bearing  animals  come  in  some 
inexplicable  way  in  great  numbers,  and  food 
game  also  is  plentiful. 

At  length  the  hunting  season  closed,  when  the 
iiild  weather  with  daily  thaws  arrived.  The  fur 
that  was  now  caught  was  deteriorating  to  such 
an  extent  that  it  was  not  wise  to  continue  catch- 
ing it  The  traps  on  the  various  trails  were 
sprung  and  hung  upon  trees  or  placed  upon 
rocks,  where  they  could  be  readily  found  again, 
and  Dick  and  Ed  joined  Bill  at  the  river  tilt, 
where  the  boat  had  been  cached  to  await  the 
breaking  up  of  the  river,  and  here  enjoyed  a  res- 
pite from  their  labours. 

Ptarmigans  in  flocks  of  hundreds  fed  upon  the 
tender  tops  of  the  willows  that  lined  the  river 
banks,  and  these  supplied  them  with  an  abun- 
dance of  fresh  meat,  varied  occasionally  by  rab- 
bits, two  or  three  porcupines  and  a  lynx  that 
Dick  shot  one  day  near  the  tilt.  This  lynx  meat 
they  roasted  by  an  open  fire  outside  the  tilt,  and 
considered  it  a  great  treat.  It  may  be  said  that 
the  roasted  lynx  resembles  in  flavour  and  texture 


THE  BREAK-UP  309 

prime  veal,  and  it  is  indeed,  when  properly 
cooked,  delicious  ;  and  the  hunter  knows  how  to 
cook  it  properly.  Trout,  too,  which  they  caught 
through  the  ice,  were  plentiful.  They  had 
Drought  with  them  when  coming  to  the  trails  in 
the  autumn,  tackle  for  the  purpose  of  securing 
fish  at  this  time.  The  lines  were  very  stout, 
thick  ones,  and  the  hooks  were  large.  A  good- 
sized  piece  of  lead,  melted  and  moulded  around 
the  stem  of  the  hook  near  the  eye,  weighted  it 
heavily,  and  it  was  baited  with  a  piece  of  fat 
pork  and  a  small  piece  of  red  cloth  or  yarn,  tied 
below  the  lead.  The  rod  was  a  stout  stick  three 
feet  in  length  and  an  inch  thick. 

With  this  equipment  the  hook  was  dropped 
into  the  hole  and  moved  up  and  down  slowly, 
until  a  fish  took  hold,  when  it  was  immediately 
pulled  out.  The  trout  were  very  sluggish  at  this 
season  of  the  year  and  made  no  fight,  and  were 
therefore  readily  landed.  The  most  of  them 
weighed  from  two  to  five  pounds  each,  and  in- 
deed any  smaller  than  that  were  spurned  and 
thrown  back  into  the  hole  "  t'  grow  up,"  as  Ed 
put  it 

One  evening  a  rain  set  in  and  for  four  days  and 
nights  it  never  ceased.  It  poured  down  as  if  the 


310  UNGAVA  BOB 

gates  of  the  eternal  reservoirs  of  heaven  had  been 
opened  and  the  flood  let  loose  to  drown  the 
world.  The  snow  became  a  sea  of  slush  and 
miniature  rivers  ran  down  to  join  forces  with  the 
larger  stream. 

At  first  the  waters  overflowed  the  ice,  but  at 
last  it  gave  way  to  the  irresistible  force  that  as« 
sailed  it,  and  giving  way  began  to  move  upon 
the  current  in  great  unwieldly  masses. 

The  river  rose  to  its  brim  and  burst  its  banks. 
Trees  were  uprooted,  and  mingling  with  the  ice 
surged  down  towards  the  sea  upon  the  crest  of 
the  unleashed,  untamed  torrent.  The  break-up 
that  the  men  were  awaiting  had  come. 

"Tis  sure  a  fearsome  sight/'  remarked  Bill 
one  day  when  the  storm  was  at  its  height,  as  he 
returned  from  "  a  look  outside  "  to  join  Dick  and 
Ed.  who  sat  smoking  their  pipes  in  silence  in  the 
tilt 

"  An*  how'd  un  like  t'  be  ridin'  one  o'  them 
cakes  o'  ice  out  there,  an*  no  way  o'  reachin' 
shore  ?  "  asked  Ed. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  ridin'  un  from  choice,  an*  if  I 
were  ridin"  un  I'm  thinkin*  'twould  be  my  last 
ride/'  answered  Bill. 

"  Once  I   were  ridin'  un,  an;  ridin'  un  from 


THE  BREAK-UP  311 

choice,"  said  Ed,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  a 
story  to  tell. 

44  No  you  weren't  never  ridin'  un.  What  un 
tell  such  things  for,  Ed  ?  "  broke  in  Dick.  «  Un 
has  dreams  an'  tells  un  for  happenin's,  I'm 
thinkin'," 

Ed  ignored  the  interruption  as  though  he  had 
aot  heard  it,  and  proceeded  to  relate  to  Bill  his 
wonderful  adventure. 

"Once,"  said  he, — "'twere  five  year  ago— I 
were  waitin'  at  my  lower  tilt  for  th'  break-up  t' 
come,  an'  has  my  boat  hauled  up  t'  what  I 
thinks  is  a  safe  place,  when  I  gets  up  one  mornin* 
t'  find  th'  water  come  up  extra  high  in  th1  night 
an'  th'  boat  gone  wi'  th'  ice.  That  leaves  me  in 
a  rare  bad  fix,  wi'  nothin'  t'  do,  seems  t*  me,  but 
wait  for  th*  water  t'  settle,  an'  cruise  down  th* 
river  afoot 

"  I'm  not  fancyin*  th'  cruise,  an'  I  watches  th1 
ice  an'  wonders,  when  I  marks  chance  cakes  o' 
ice  driftin*  down  close  t'  shore  an'  touchin'  land 
now  an*  agin  as  un  goes,  could  I  ride  un.  ThJ 
longer  I  watches  un  th'  more  I  thinks  twould  be 
a  fine  way  t'  ride  on  un,  an'  at  last  I  makes  up 
my  pack  an'  cuts  a  good  pole,  an*  watches  my 
chance,  which  soon  comes.  A  big  cake  comes 


3i2  UNGAVA  BOB 

rollin'  down  an'  I  steps  aboard  un  an*  away  I 
goes. 

"  'Twere  fine  for  a  little  while,  an'  I  says,  'Ed, 
now  you  knows  th'  thing  t'  do  in  a  tight  place.* 

"  'Twere  a  rare  pretty  sight  watchin'  th'  shore 
slippin'  past,  an'  I  forgets  as  'tis  a  piece  o'  ice 
I'm  ridin'  till  I  happens  t'  look  around  an'  finds 
th'  cake  o'  ice,  likewise  myself,  in  th'  middle  o' 
th'  r^er,  an'  no  way  o'  gettin'  ashore.  Trie's 
nothin'  t'  do  but  hang  on,  an'  I  hangs. 

"Then  I  sees  th'  Gull  Island  Rapids  an'  I  'most 
loses  my  nerve.  'Tis  a  fearsome  torrent  at 
best,  as  un  knows,  but  now  wi'  high  flood  'tis 
like  ten  o'  unself  at  low  water.  Th'  waves  beats 
up  twenty  foot  high." 

Ed  paused  here  to  light  his  pipe  which  had  a 
way  of  always  going  out  when  he  reached  the 
most  dramatic  point  in  his  stories.  When  it  was 
finally  going  again,  he  continued: 

"Lucky  'twere  for  me  th'  rocks  were  all  cov- 
ered. In  we  goes,  me  an'  th'  ice,  an'  I  hangs  on 
an'  shuts  my  eyes.  When  I  opens  un  we're 
floatin'  peaceful  an'  steady  below  th'  rapids,  an* 
I  feels  like  breathin'  agin. 

"Then  we  runs  th'  Porcupine  Rapids,  an*  I 
begins  t'  think  I  has  th'  Muskrat  Falls  t'  run  too 


THE  BREAK-UP  313 

which  would  be  th'  endin'  o'  me,  sure.  But  I 
ain't  I  uses  my  pole,  an'  works  up  f  shore,  an* 
just  as  we  gets  th'  rush  o'  th'  water  above  th' 
falls;  I  lands. 

's  That  were  how  I  rid  th'  river  on  a*  ice  cake." 

"  Where' d  ye  land,  now  ?  "  asked  Dick.  "  This 
side  o'  th'  river  or  t'  other?" 

41  This  side  o'  un,"  answered  Ed,  complacently 

"  Tis  sheer  rock  this  side,  an'  no  holt  t'  land 
on,"  said  Dick,  triumphantly 

"  Th'  water  were  t'  th'  top  o'  th'  rock,"  ex- 
plained  Ed, 

"  Then,"  said  Dick,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
has  trapped  another,  "th'  hull  country  were 
flooded  an'  there  were  no  falls." 

Ed  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  disdainfully. 

"  I  were  on  th'  ice  six  days,  an'  /  knows." 

The  men  were  held  in  waiting  for  several  days 
after  the  storm  ceased  for  the  river  to  clear  of 
debris  and  sink  again  to  something  like  its 
normal  volume,  before  it  was  considered  safe  for 
them  to  begin  the  voyage  out.  Then  on  a  fair 
June  morning  the  boat  was  laden  with  the  outfit 
and  fur 

"  Poor  Bob,"  said  Dick,  as  Bob's  thsegs  were 
placed  in  the  boat  "  Th'  poor  lad  were  so  hope- 


3H  UNGAVA  BOB 

ful  when  we  were  comin'  in  t'  th'  trails,  an*  now 
un's  gone.  'Twill  be  hard  t'  meet  his  mother  an; 
Richard." 

"  Aye,  'twill  be  hard,"  assented  Ed  "  She'll 
be  takin'  un  rare  hard.  Our  comin1  home'll  be 
bringin'  his  goin*  away  plain  t'  she  again." 

"  An*  Emily,  too,"  spoke  up  Bill.  "  They  were 
thinkin'  so  much  o*  each  other." 

Then  the  journey  was  begun,  full  of  danger 
and  excitement  as  they  shot  through  rushing 
rapids  and  on  down  the  river  towards  Eskimo 
Bay,  where  great  and  unexpected  tidings  awaited 
them 


XXVI 

BACK  AT  WOLF  BIGHT 

OB'S  apparent  death  was  a  sore  shock  to 
Richard  Gray.  When  Douglas  found 
him  on  the  trail  and  broke  the  news  to 
him  as  gently  as  possible,  he  seemed  at  first 
hardly  to  comprehend  it  He  was  stunned.  He 
said  little,  but  followed  Douglas  back  to  the 
cabin  like  one  in  a  mesmeric  sleep.  A  few  days 
before  he  had  gone  away  happy  and  buoyant, 
now  he  shuffled  back  like  an  old  man. 

Mechanically  he  looked  at  the  remains  and  ex- 
amined the  gun  and  the  axe — Ed  had  brought 
out  but  one  of  the  axes  found  by  the  rock  with 
the  remains— and  said,  "Th'  guns  not  Bob's 
Th'  axe  were  his." 

"  Th'  gun's  not  Bob's  ! :'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gray 
"Th'  clothes  is  not  Bob's!  Now  I  knows 'tis 
not  my  boy  we've  found." 

'•  Yes,  Mary,"  said  he  broken-heartedly.  "  Tis 
Bob  th'  wolves  got.  Our  poor  lad  is  gone  No 
one  else  could  ha'  had  his  things.'' 


316  UNGAVA  BOB 

He  and  Douglas  made  a  coffin  into  which  the 
remains  were  tenderly  placed,  and  it  was  put 
upon  a  high  platform  near  the  house,  out  of  reach 
of  animals,  there  to  rest  until  the  spring,  when 
the  snow  would  be  gone  and  it  could  be  buried. 

For  a  whole  week  after  this  sad  duty  was  per- 
formed the  father  sat  by  the  cabin  stove  and 
brooded,  a  broken-hearted,  dispirited  counterpart 
of  what  he  had  been  at  the  Christmas  time.  It 
was  the  man's  nature  to  be  silent  in  seasons  of 
misfortune.  During  the  previous  year,  when 
luck  had  been  so  against  him,  this  characteristic 
of  silent  brooding  had  shown  itself  markedly,  but 
then  he  did  not  remain  in  the  house  and  neglect 
his  work  as  he  did  now.  He  seemed  to  have  lost 
all  heart  and  all  ambition.  He  scarcely  troubled 
to  feed  the  dogs,  and  the  few  tasks  that  he  did 
perform  were  evidently  irksome  and  unpleasant 
to  him,  as  things  that  interfered  with  his  reveries. 

From  morning  until  night  Richard  Gray  nursed 
the  grief  in  his  bosom,  but  never  referred  to  the 
tragedy  unless  it  was  first  mentioned  by  another ; 
and  at  such  times  he  said  as  little  as  possible 
about  it,  answering  questions  briefly,  offering 
«othing  himself,  and  plainly  showing  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  converse  upon  the  subiect 


BACK  AT  WOLF  BIGHT  317 

Over  and  over  again  he  reviewed  to  himself 
every  phase  of  Bob's  life,  from  the  time  when,  a 
wee  lad,  Bob  climbed  on  his  knee  of  an  evening 
to  beg  for  stories  of  bear  hunts,  and  great  gray 
wolves  that  harried  the  hunters,  and  how  the 
animals  were  captured  on  the  trail ;  and  through 
the  years  into  which  the  little  lad  grew  into  youth 
and  approached  manhood,  down  to  the  day  that 
he  left  home,  looking  so  noble  and  stalwart,  to 
brave,  for  the  sake  of  those  he  loved,  the  unknown 
dangers  that  lurked  in  the  rude,  wild  wastes  be- 
yond the  line  of  blue  mysterious  hills  to  the 
northward.  And  now  the  poor  remains  enclosed 
in  the  rough  box  that  rested  upon  the  scaffold 
outside  were  all  that  remained  of  him.  And  that 
was  the  end  of  all  the  plans  that  he  and  the 
mother  had  made  for  their  son's  future,  of  all 
their  hopes  and  fine  pictures. 

Mrs.  Gray  had  never  seen  her  husband  in  so 
downcast  and  despondent  a  mood,  and  as  the 
days  passed  she  began  to  worry  about  him  and 
finally  became  alarmed.  He  had  lost  all  interest 
in  everything,  and  had  a  strange,  unnatural  look 
in  his  eyes  that  she  did  not  like. 

One  evening  she  sat  down  by  his  side,  and. 
taking  his  hand,  said : 


3i8  UNGAVA  BOB 

"  Be  a  brave  man,  Richard,  and  bear  up.  TO 
Lard's  never  let  Bob  die  so.  That  were  not 
Bob  as  th'  wolves  got.  I'm  knowin*  our  lad's 
lomewheres  alive.  I  were  dreamin'  last  night  o' 
seein'  he — an' — I  feels  it— I  feels  it — an'  I  can't 
go  agin  my  feelin'." 

-'  No,  Mary,  'twere  Bob,"  he  answered. 

"  I  feels  'tweren't,  but  if  'twere  'tis  th'  Lard's 
will,  an'  'tis  our  duty  t'  be  brave  an'  bear  up. 
Tis  hard — rare  hard — but  bear  up,  Richard — an* 
bear  un  like  a  man.  Remember,  Richard,  we 
has  th'  maid  spared  to  us." 

And  so,  heart-broken  though  she  was  herself, 
she  comforted  and  encouraged  him,  as  is  the 
way  of  women,  for  in  times  of  great  misfortune 
they  are  often  the  braver  of  the  sexes.  Her  hus- 
band did  not  know  the  hours  of  wakeful  uncer- 
tainty and  helplessness  and  despair  that  Mrs. 
Gray  spent,  as  she  lay  long  into  the  nights  think- 
ing  and  thinking,  until  sometimes  it  seemed  that 
she  would  go  mad. 

Bessie,  gentle  and  sympathetic,  was  the  pillar 
upon  which  they  all  leaned  during  those  first  days 
after  the  dreadful  tidings  came.  It  was  her  pres- 
ence that  made  life  possible.  Like  a  good  angel 
ahe  moved  about  the  house,  unobtrusively  minis 


BACK  AT  WOLF  BIGHT  319 

tering  to  them,  and  Mrs.  Gray  more  than  once 
said, 

"I'm  not  knowin'  what  we'd  do,  Bessie,  if 
'twere  not  for  you." 

After  a  week  of  silent  despondency  the  father 
roused  himself  to  some  extent  from  the  lethargy 
into  which  he  had  fallen,  and  returned  to  his  trail. 
The  work  brought  back  life  and  energy,  and 
when,  a  fortnight  later,  he  came  back,  he  had  re- 
sumed somewhat  his  old  bearing  and  manner, 
though  not  all  of  the  buoyancy.  He  entered  the 
cabin  with  the  old  greeting — "An*  how's  my 
maid  been  wi'out  her  daddy  ?  "  It  made  the  oth- 
ers feel  better  and  happier ;  and  he  was  almost 
his  natural  self  again  when  he  left  them  for 
another  period. 

The  report  of  Bob's  death  did  not  appear  to 
affect  Emily  as  greatly  as  her  mother  feared  it 
would.  She  was  silent,  and  took  less  interest  in 
her  doll,  and  seemed  to  be  constantly  expecting 
something  to  occur.  One  day  after  her  father 
had  left  them  she  called  her  mother  to  her,  and, 
taking  her  hand  to  draw  her  to  a  seat  on  the 
couch,  asked : 

"  Mother,  do  angels  ever  come  by  day,  or  be 
it  always  by  night  ?  " 


320  UNGAVA  BOB 

"I'm — I'm — not  knowin',  dear.  They  comes 
both  times,  I'm  thinkin' — but  mostly  by  night — 
I'm — not  knowin',"  faltered  the  mother. 

"  Does  un  think  Bob's  angel  ha'  been  comin* 
by  night  while  we  sleeps,  mother?  I  been 
watchin',  an'  he've  never  come  while  I  wakes—- 
an' I'm  wonderin'  an'  wonderin'." 

"No — not  while  we  sleeps — no — I'm  not 
knowin',"  and  then  she  buried  her  face  in  Emily's 
pillow  and  wept. 

"  Bob's  knowin',  mother,  how  we  longs  t'  see 
he,"  continued  Emily,  as  she  stroked  her  mother's 
hair,  "  an'  he'd  sure  be  comin'  if  he  were  killed. 
He'd  sure  be  doin'  that  so  we  could  see  un.  But 
he's  not  been  comin',  an'  I'm  thinkin'  he's  livin', 
just  as  you  were  sayin*.  Bob'll  be  home  wr*  th* 
break-up,  mother,  I'm  thinkin' — wi'  th*  break-up, 
mother,  for  his  angel  ha'  never  come,  as  un  sure 
would  if  he  were  dead." 

On  two  or  three  other  occasions  after  this — 
once  in  the  night — Emily  called  Mrs.  Gray  to  her 
to  reiterate  this  belief.  She  would  not  accept 
even  the  possibility  of  Bob's  death  without  first 
seeing  his  angel,  which  she  was  so  positive  would 
come  to  visit  them  if  he  were  really  dead  ;  and  it 
was  this  that  kept  back  the  grief  that  she  would 


BACK  AT  WOLF  BIGHT  321 

have  felt  had  she  believed  that  she  was  never  to 
see  him  again. 

Bessie  remained  with  them  until  the  last  of 
February,  when  her  father  drove  the  dogs  over 
to  take  her  home,  as  many  of  the  trappers  were 
expected  in  from  their  trails  about  the  first  of 
March  to  spend  a  few  days  at  the  Post,  and  her 
mother  needed  her  help  with  the  additional  work 
that  this  entailed.  Emily  was  loath  to  part  from 
her,  but  her  father  promised  that  she  should  re- 
turn again  for  a  visit  as  soon  as  the  break-up 
came  and  before  the  fishing  commenced. 

Douglas  Campbell  was  very  good  to  the  Grays, 
and  at  least  once  each  week,  and  sometimes 
oftener,  walked  over  to  spend  the  day  and  cheer 
them  up.  Often  he  brought  some  little  delicacy 
for  Emily,  and  she  looked  forward  to  his  visits 
with  much  pleasure. 

One  day  towards  the  last  of  May  he  asked 
Emily  : 

"  How'd  un  like  t'  go  t'  St.  Johns  an'  have  th' 
doctors  make  a  fine,  strong  maid  of  un  again  ? 
I'm  thinkin'  th'  mother's  needin'  her  maid  t*  help 
her  now." 

"Oh,  I'd  like  un  fine,  sir  I"  exclaimed  Emily, 

w  I'm  thinkin'  we'll  have  t'  send  un.     Twill  be 


322  UNGAVA  BOB 

a  long  while  away  from  home.  You  won't  be 
gettin'  lonesome  now  ?  " 

"  I'm  fearin'  I'll  be  gettin'  lonesome  for  mother, 
but  I'll  stand  un  t'  get  well  an'  walk  again." 

"  Now  does  un  hear  that,"  said  Douglas  to 
Mrs.  Gray,  who  at  that  moment  came  in  from  out 
of  doors.  "  Your  little  maid's  goin*  t'  St  Johns 
t'  have  th'  doctors  make  she  walk  again,  so  she 
can  be  helpin'  wi*  th'  housekeepin'." 

"  The's  no  money  t'  send  she,"  said  Mrs.  Gray 
sadly.  "  'Tis  troublin'  me  wonderful,  an'  I'm  not 
knowin*  what  t'  do — 'tis  troublin'  me  so." 

"  I'm  thinkin'  th'  money'll  be  found  t'  send  she 
— I'm  knowirf  'twill,"  Douglas  prophesied  con- 
vincingly. "  Ed  were  sayin'  Bob  had  a  rare  lot 
o'  fur  that  he'd  caught  before  th' — before  th'  New 
Year — a  fine  lot  o'  martens  an'  th'  silver  foxes. 
Them'll  pay  Bob's  debt  an'  pay  for  th'  maid's 
goin'  too.  That's  what  Bob  were  wantin'." 

"  Did  Ed  say  now  as  Bob  were  gettin'  all  that 
fur  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  were  feelin'  so  sore  bad 
over  Bob's  goin'  I  were  never  hearin'  un — I  were 
not  thinkin'  about  th'  lad's  fur — I  were  thinkin' 
o'  he." 

"Aye,  Ed  were  sayin'  that.  Emily  must  be 
ready  t'  go  on  th'  cruise  t*  meet  th'  first  trip  or 


BACK  AT  WOLF  BIGHT  323 

th'  mail  boat  Th'  maid  must  be  leavin'  here  by 
th'  last  o'  June,"  planned  Douglas. 

"  But  we'll  not  be  havin'  th'  money  then — not 
till  th'  men  comes  out,  an'  then  we  has  t'  sell  th' 
fur  first  t'  get  th'  money,"  Mrs.  Gray  explained. 
"Then — then  I  hopes  th'  maid  may  go.  'Tis 
what  Bob  were  goin'  t'  th'  bush  for — an'  takin1 
all  th'  risks  for — my  poor  lad — he  were  countin' 
on  un  so " 

"We'll  not  be  waitin'.  We'll  not  be  waitin', 
/  has  th'  money  now  an'  th'  maid  must  be  goin' 
th'  first  trip  o'  th'  mail  boat,"  said  Douglas,  in  an 
authoritative  manner. 

"Oh,  Douglas,  you  be  wonderful  good — so 
wonderful  good."  And  Mrs.  Gray  began  tc 
cry. 

•*  Now  !  Now  !  M  exclaimed  the  soft-hearted 
old  trapper  "  'Tis  nothin'  t'  be  cryin'  about 
What  un  cryin'  for,  now  ?  " 

"  Fm — not — knowin' — only  you  be  so  good — 
an'  I  were  wantin'  so  bad  t'  have  Emily  go — I 
were  wantin'  so  wonderful  bad — an*  'twill  save 
she — 'twill  save  she ! " 

"Tis  no  kindness.  'Tis  no  kindness.  'Tis 
Bob's  fur  pays  for  un — no  kindness  o'  mine,"  he 
insisted. 


324  UNGAVA  BOB 

Emily  took  Douglas'  hand  and  drew  him  to 
her  until  she  could  reach  his  face.  Then  with  a 
palm  on  each  cheek  she  kissed  his  lips,  and  with 
her  arms  about  his  neck  buried  her  face  tor  a  mo- 
ment m  his  white  beard. 

"  There !  There  I "  he  exclaimed  when  she 
had  released  him.  "  Now  what  un  makin'  love 
t' me  for?" 

Richard  returned  that  evening  from  his  last 
trip  over  his  trail  for  the  season,  and  he  was  much 
pleased  with  the  arrangement  as  to  Emily. 

"  Your  daddy'll  be  lonesome  wi'out  un,'''  said 
he,  "  but  'twill  be  fine  t'  think  o'  my  maid  comin* 
back  watkin'  again — rare  fine." 

"  An'  'twill  be  rare  hard  t'  be  goin',"  she  said 
"  I'm  'most  wishin'  I  weren't  havin'  t'  go." 

'*  But  when  you  comes  back,  maid,  you'll  be 
well,  an'  think,  now,  how  happy  that'll  make 
un,"  Mrs.  Gray  encouraged.  "  Th'  Lard's  good 
t'  be  providin'  th'  way.  'Twill  be  hard  for  un  an" 
for  us  all,  but  th'  Lard  always  pays  us  for  th'  hard 
times  an'  th'  sorrow  He  brings  us,  wi'  good  times 
an*  a  rare  lot  o'  happiness  after,  if  we  only  waits 
wi'  patience  an'  faith  for  un." 

"  Aye,  mother,  I  knows,  an*  I  is  glad — oh,  so 
glad  t*  know  I's  t'  be  well  again,"  said  Emily 


BACK  AT  WOLP  BIGHT  325 

very  earnestly.  "  But,"  she  added,  "  I'm  thinkin' 
'twould  be  so  fine  if  you  or  daddy  were  goih' 
wi*  me.  Bob  were  countin'  on  un  so — I  minds 
how  Bob  were  countin'  on  my  goin' — an'  he's 
not  here  t'  know  about  un — an'  I  feels  wonderful 
bad  when  I  thinks  of  un." 

Of  course  it  was  quite  out  of  the  question  for 
either  the  father  or  the  mother  to  go  with  her,  for 
that  would  more  than  double  the  expense  and 
could  not  be  afforded.  There  was  no  certainty 
as  to  how  much  would  be  coming  to  them  after 
Bob's  share  of  the  furs  were  sold.  This  could 
not  be  estimated  eve;:?  approximately  for  they  had 
not  so  much  as  seen  the  pelts  yet.  Richard, 
grown  somewhat  pessimistic  with  the  years  of  ill 
fortune,  even  doubted  if,  after  Bob's  debt  to  Mr. 
MacDonald  was  paid,  there  would  be  sufficient 
left  to  reimburse  Douglas  for  the  money  he  had 
agreed  to  advance  to  meet  Emily's  expenses. 
M  But  then,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  'twill  work  out 
somehow." 

At  last  the  great  storm  came  that  opened  the 
rivers  and  smashed  the  bay  ice  into  bits,  and 
when  the  fury  of  the  wind  was  spent  and  the  rain 
ceased  the  sun  came  out  with  a  new  warmth  that 
beepoke  the  summer  close  at  hand.  The  tide 


326  UNGAVA  BOB 

carried  the  splintered  ice  to  the  open  sea,  wild 
geese  honked  overhead  in  their  northern  flight, 
seals  played  in  the  open  water,  and  the  loon's 
weird  laugh  broke  the  wilderness  silence.  The 
world  was  awakening  from  its  long  slumber,  and 
summer  was  at  hand. 

Tom  Black  kept  his  word,  and  when  the  ice 
was  gone  brought  Bessie  over  in  his  boat  to  stay 
with  Emily  until  she  should  go  to  the  hospital  It 
was  a  beautiful,  sunny  afternoon  when  they  arrived 
and  Bessie  brought  a  good  share  of  the  sunshine 
into  the  cabin  with  her. 

"  Oh,  Bessie  1 "  cried  Emily,  as  her  friend  bursS 
into  the  room.  "  I  were  tnmkin'  you'd  not  be 
comin',  Bessie  1  Oh,  'tis  fine  t*  have  you  come  I" 

Tom  remained  the  night,  and  he  and  Bessie 
cheered  up  the  Grays,  for  it  had  been  a  lonely, 
monotonous  period  since  their  last  visit,  and 
never  a  caller  save  Douglas  had  they  had. 

Time,  the  great  healer  of  sorrow,  had  some- 
what mitigated  the  shock  of  Bob's  disappearance, 
and  had  reconciled  them  to  some  extent  to  his 
loss.  But  now  the  sore  was  opened  again  when, 
one  day,  a  grave  was  dug  in  the  spruce  woods 
behind  the  cabin,  and  the  coffin,  which  had  been 
Testing  upon  the  scaffold  since  January,  was 


BACK  AT  WOLF  BIGHT  327 

taken  down  and  reverently  lowered  into  the  earth 
by  Richard  and  Douglas.  Mrs.  Gray,  though 
still  firm  in  the  intuitive  belief  that  her  boy  lived, 
wept  piteously  when  the  earth  clattered  down 
upon  the  box  and  hid  it  forever  from  view. 

"  I  knows  'tis  not  Bob,"  she  sobbed,  "  but  where 
is  my  lad?  What  has  become  o*  my  brave 
lad?" 

Bessie,  with  wet  eyes,  comforted  her  with 
soothing  words  and  gentle  caresses. 

Richard  and  Douglas  did  their  work  silently, 
both  certain  beyond  a  doubt  that  it  was  Bob  they 
had  laid  to  rest. 

Nothing  was  said  to  Emily  of  the  burial 
That  would  have  done  her  no  good  and  they  did 
not  wish  to  give  her  the  pain  that  it  would  have 
caused. 

The  days  were  rapidly  lengthening,  and  the 
sun  coming  boldly  nearer  the  earth  was  tempering 
and  mellowing  the  atmosphere,  and  every  pleas- 
ant afternoon  a  couch  was  made  for  Emily  out 
of  doors,  where  she  could  bask  in  the  sunshine, 
and  breathe  the  air  charged  with  the  perfume 
of  the  spruce  and  balsam  forest  above,  and  drink 
in  the  wild  beauties  of  the  wilderness  about  her. 

Here  she  lay,  alone,  one  day  late  in  June 


328  UNGAVA  BOB 

while  her  mother  and  Bessie  washed  the  dinnei 
dishes  before  Bessie  came  out  to  join  her,  and 
her  father  and  Douglas,  who  had  come  over  to 
dinner,  smoked  their  pipes  and  chatted  in  the 
house.  She  was  listening  to  the  joyous  song  of 
a  robin,  that  had  just  returned  from  its  far-off 
southland  pilgrimage,  and  was  thinking  as  she 
listened  of  the  long,  long  journey  that  she  was 
soon  to  take.  Her  heart  was  sad,  for  it  was  a 
sore  trial  to  be  separated  all  the  summer  from 
her  father  and  mother  and  never  see  them 
once. 

She  looked  down  the  bight  out  towards  the 
broader  waters  of  the  bay,  for  that  was  the  way  she 
was  to  go.  Suddenly  as  she  looked  a  boat  turned 
the  point  into  the  bight  It  was  a  strange  boat 
and  she  could  not  see  who  was  in  it,  but  it  held 
her  attention  as  it  approached,  for  a  visitor  was 
quite  unusual  at  this  time  of  the  year.  Presently 
the  single  occupant  stood  up  in  the  boat,  to  get 
a  better  view  of  the  cabin. 

"Bob!  Bob!  BOB!"  shouted  Emily,  quite 
wild  and  beside  herself.  "Mother!  Father! 
Bob  is  coming !  Bob  is  coming !  " 

Those  in  the  house  rushed  out  in  alarm,  for 
thought  the  child  had  gone  quite  mad,  but 


BACK  AT  WOLF  BIGHT  329 

when  they  reached  her  they,  too,  seemed  to  lose 
their  reason.  Mrs.  Gray  ran  wildly  to  the  sandy 
shore  where  the  boat  would  land,  extending  her 
arms  towards  it  and  fairly  screaming, 

"My  lad  1      Oh,  my  lad  1" 

Bessie  was  at  her  heels  and  Richard  and 
Douglas  followed. 

When  Bob  stepped  ashore  his  mother  clasped 
him  to  her  arms  and  wept  over  him  and  fondled 
him,  and  he,  taller  by  an  inch  than  when  he  left 
her,  bronzed  and  weather-beaten  and  ragged, 
drew  her  close  to  him  and  hugged  her  again 
and  again,  and  stroked  her  hair,  and  cried  too, 
while  Richard  and  Douglas  stood  by,  blowing 
their  noses  on  their  red  bandana  handkerchiefs 
and  trying  to  took  very  self-composed. 

When  his  mother  let  him  go  Bob  greeted  the 
others,  forgetting  himself  so  far  as  to  kiss  Bessie, 
who  blushed  and  did  not  resent  his  boldness. 

Emily  simply  would  not  let  him  go.  She  held 
him  tight  to  her,  and  called  him  her  "  big,  brave 
brother,"  and  said  many  times  : 

"  I  were  knowin'  you'd  come  back  to  us,  Bob, 
1  were  just  knowin1  you'd  come  back." 

An  hour  passed  in  a  babble  of  talk  and  ex- 
change of  explanations  almost  before  they  were 


330  UNGAVA  BOB 

aware,  and  then  Mrs.  Gray  suddenly  realized  that 
Bob  had  had  no  dinner. 

"  Now  un  must  be  rare  hungry,  Bob,"  she  ex- 
plained. "  Richard,  carry  Emily  in  with  un  now, 
an'  we'll  have  a  cup  o'  tea  wi'  Bob,  while  he  has 
his  dinner." 

"  Let  me  carry  un,"  said  Bob,  gathering  Emily 
into  his  arms. 

In  the  house  they  were  all  so  busy  talking  and 
laughing,  while  Mrs.  Gray  prepared  the  meal  for 
Bob,  that  no  one  noticed  a  boat  pull  into  the  bight 
and  three  men  land  upon  the  beach  below  the 
cabin;  and  so,  just  as  they  were  about  to  sit 
down  to  the  table,  they  were  taken  completely  by 
surprise  when  the  door  opened  and  in  walked 
Dick  Blake,  Ed  Matheson  and  Bill  Campbell. 

The  three  stopped  short  in  open-mouthed  as- 
tonishment. 

"  Tis  Bob's  ghost  I "  finally  exclaimed  Ed 

They  were  soon  convinced,  however,  that  Bob's 
hand  grasp  was  much  more  real  than  that  of  any 
ghost,  and  the  greetings  that  followed  were  up- 
roarious. 

Nearly  the  whole  arternoon  tney  sat  around 
the  table  while  Bob  told  the  story  of  his  adven- 
tures. A  comparison  of  experiences  made  it  quite 


BACK  AT  WOLF  BIGHT  331 

certain  that  the  remains  they  had  supposed  to 
have  been  Bob's  were  the  remains  of  Micmac 
John  and  the  mystery  of  the  half-breed's  failure 
to  return  to  the  tilt  for  the  pelts  he  had  stolen 
was  therefore  cleared  up. 

"  An'  th'  Nascaupees,"  said  Bob,  "  be  not  fear- 
some murderous  folk  as  we  was  thinkin'  un,  but 
like  other  folks,  an*  un  took  rare  fine  care  o*  me. 
I'm  thinkin'  they'd  not  be  hurtin'  white  folks  an* 
white  folk  don't  hurt  they" 

Finally  the  men  sat  back  from  the  table  for  a 
smoke  and  chat  while  the  dishes  were  being 
cleared  away  by  Mrs.  Gray  and  Bessie. 

"  Now  I  were  sure  thinkin'  Bob  were  a  ghost," 
said  Ed,  as  he  lighted  his  pipe  with  a  brand  from 
the  stove,  "  and  'twere  scarin'  me  a  bit.  I  never 
seen  but  one  ghost  in  my  life  and  that  were " 

"  We're  not  wantin'  t'  hear  that  ghost  yarn, 
Ed,"  broke  in  Dick,  and  Ed  forgot  his  story  in 
the  good-natured  laughter  that  followed. 

The  home-coming  was  all  that  Bob  had  hoped 
and  desired  it  to  be  and  the  arrival  of  his  three 
friends  from  the  trail  made  it  completec  His 
heart  was  full  that  evening  when  he  stepped  out 
of  doors  to  watch  the  setting  sun.  As  he  gazed 
at  the  spruce-dad  hills  that  hid  the  great,  wild 


332  UNGAVA  BOB 

north  from  which  he  had  so  lately  come,  the 
afterglow  blazed  up  with  all  its  wondrous  colour, 
glorifying  the  world  and  lighting  the  heavens  and 
the  water  and  the  hills  beyond  with  the  radiance 
and  beauty  of  a  northern  sunset.  The  spirit  of  it 
was  in  Bob's  soul,  and  he  said  to  himself, 

"  'Tis  wonderful  fine  t'  be  livin',  an'  'tis  a  won- 
derful fine  world  t*  live  in,  though  'twere  seemki* 
hard  sometimes,  in  the  winter.  An*  th'  comin' 
home  has  more  than  paid  for  th'  trouble  I  were 
bavin'  gettin'  here." 


XXVII 

THE  CRUISE  TO  ST.  JOHNS 

WHEN  Bob  and  the  two  Eskimos  sailed 
the  Maid  of  the  North  up  the  bay  from 
Fort  Pelican  it  was  found  advisable  to 
run  the  schooner  to  an  anchorage  at  Kenemish 
where  she  could  lie  with  less  exposure  to  the  wind 
than  at  Wolf  Bight.  The  moment  she  was  made 
snug  and  safe  Bob  went  ashore  to  Douglas 
Campbell's  cabin,  where  he  learned  that  his  old 
friend  had  gone  to  Wolf  Bight  early  that  morn- 
ing to  spend  the  day. 

The  lad's  impatience  to  reach  home  would 
brook  no  waiting,  and  5,0,  leaving  Netseksoak 
and  Aluktook  in  charge  of  the  vessel,  he  pro- 
ceeded alone  in  a  small  boat,  reaching  there  as 
we  have  seen  early  in  the  afternoon. 

What  to  do  with  the  schooner  now  that  she 
had  brought  him  safely  to  his  destination  was  a 
problem  that  Bob  had  not  been  able  to  solve. 
The  vessel  was  not  his,  and  it  was  plainly  hia 
duty  to  find  her  owner  and  deliver  the  schoonef 
to  him,  but  how  to  go  about  it  he  did  not  know 
333 


334  UNGAVA  BOB 

That  evening  when  the  candies  were  lighted  and 
all  were  gathered  around  the  stove,  he  put  the 
question  to  the  others. 

"  I'm  not  knowin'  now  who  th'  schooner  be- 
longs to,"  said  he,  "  an*  I'm  not  knowin'  how  t* 
find  th'  owner.  I'm  wonderin'  what  t'  do  with 
un." 

"  Tis  some  trader  owns  un  I'm  thinkin',"  Mrs. 
Gray  suggested 

<f  Tis  sure  some  trader,"  agreed  Bob,  "  and 
the's  a  rare  lot  o'  fur  aboard  she  an*  the's 
enough  trader's  goods  t'  stock  a  Post  Mr. 
Forbes  were  tellin'  me  I  should  be  gettin*  salvage 
for  bringin'  she  t*  port  safe." 

"  Aye,"  confirmed  Douglas,  "  you  should  be 
gettin*  salvage.  Tis  th'  law  o'  th'  sea  an*  but 
right  We'll  ha*  t*  be  lookin*  t'  th'  salvage  for 
un  lad." 

"But  how'll  we  be  gettin*  un  now?"  Bob 
asked,  much  puzzled.  "  An?  how'll  we  be  findin* 
th' owner?" 

"Th*  owner,"  explained  Douglas,  "will  be 
doin'  th'  findin'  hisself  I'm  thinkin'.  But  t'  get 
th'  salvage  th'  schooner'll  ha' t'  be  took  f  St 
Johns.  Now  I'm  not  knowin'  but  I  could  pilot 
she  over.  Tis  a  many  a  long  year  skice  I  were 


THE  CRUISE  TO  ST.  JOHNS        335 

there  but  I'm  thinkin'  I  could  manage  un,  and 
well  make  up  a  crew  an1  sail  she  over." 

"  We'll  be  needin'  five  t'  handle  she  right," 
said  Bob.  "'Twere  wonderful  hard  gettin1  on 
wi'  just  me  an'  th'  two  huskies.  We'll  sure  need 
five." 

"  Aye,  'twill  need  five  of  us,"  assented  Douglas, 
"  I'm  thinkin'  now  Dick  an'  Ed  an'  Bill  would 
like  t'  be  makin'  th'  cruise  an'  seem*  St  Johns, 
an'  we  has  th'  crew  right  here." 

The  three  men  were  not  only  willing  to  go  but 
delighted  with  the  prospect  of  the  journey 
They  had  never  in  their  lives  been  outside  the 
bay  and  the  voyage  offered  them  an  opportunity 
to  see  something  of  the  great  world  of  which 
they  had  heard  so  much. 

"  I'll  be  wantin'  t*  go  home  first,"  said  Dick, 
"  an'  so  will  Ed,  but  we'll  be  t'  Kenemish  an' 
ready  t'  start  in  three  days." 

'"Twill  be  a  fine  way  t'  take  th'  maid  t'  th* 
mail  boat  so  th'  doctor  can  take  she  with  un/* 
suggested  Richard. 

"  An'  father  an*  mother  an'  Bessie  can  go  ? 
th'  mail  boat  with  us,"  spoke  up  Emily,  from  her 
couch.  "  Oh,  'twill  be  fine  f  have  you  all  go  t* 
th'  mail  boat  with  me!" 


336  UNGAVA  BOB 

And  so  this  arrangement  was  made  and  car* 
ried  out.  On  the  appointed  day  every  one  was 
aboard  the  Maid  of  the  Northt  and  with  light 
hearts  the  voyage  was  begun. 

Two  days  later  they  reached  Fort  Pelican,  when 
Netseksoak  and  Aluktook  went  ashore  to  await 
the  arrival  of  the  ship  that  was  to  take  them  to 
their  far  northern  home,  and  Bob  said  good-bye 
to  the  two  faithful  friends  with  whom  he  had 
braved  so  many  dangers  and  suffered  so  many 
hardships. 

The  following  morning  the  mail  boat  steamed 
in,  and  Emily  was  transferred  to  her  in  charge  of 
the  doctor,  who  greeted  her  kindly  and  promised, 

"You'll  be  going  home  a  new  girl  in  the 
fall,  and  your  father  and  mother  won't  know 
you." 

Nevertheless  the  parting  from  her  friends  was 
very  hard  for  Emily,  and  the  mother  and  child, 
and  Bessie  too,  shed  a  good  many  tears,  though 
the  fact  that  she  was  to  see  Bob  in  a  little  while 
in  St.  Johns  comforted  Emily  somewhat 

When  the  mail  boat  was  finally  gone,  Richard 
Gray,  with  his  wife  and  Bessie,  turned  homeward 
in  their  dory,  which  had  been  brought  down  in 
tow  of  the  Maid  of  the  North,  and  the  schooner 


THE  CRUISE  TO  ST.  JOHNS       337 

spread  her  sails  to  the  breeze  and  passed  to  the 
southward. 

With  some  delays  caused  by  bad  weather,  three 
weeks  elapsed  before  the  Maid  of  the  North  one 
day,  late  in  July,  sailed  through  the  narrows  past 
the  towering  cliffs  of  Signal  Hill,  and  anchored  in 
the  land-locked  harbour  of  St.  Johns. 

In  the  interim  the  mail  boat  had  made  another 
voyage  to  the  north,  and  brought  back  with  her 
Captain  Hanks  and  his  crew,  who  had  worked 
their  way  to  Indian  Harbour  in  their  open  boat  to 
await  the  steamer  there.  Of  course  Skipper  Sam 
had  heard  that  Bob  was  coming  with  the  Maid 
cf  the  North,  and  when  the  schooner  finally 
reached  her  anchorage  he  was  on  the  lookout  for 
her,  and  at  once  came  aboard  with  much  bluster- 
ing, to  demand  her  immediate  delivery.  He  be- 
lieved he  had  some  unsophisticated  livyeres  to 
deal  with,  whom  he  could  easily  browbeat  out  of 
their  rights.  What  was  his  surprise,  then,  when 
Douglas  stepped  forward,  and  said  very  authori- 
tatively : 

"  Bide  a  bit,  now,  skipper.  When  'tis  decided 
how  much  salvage  you  pays  thy  lad,  an'  after  you 
pays  un,  you'll  be  havin'  th*  schooner  an*  her 
cargo,  an*  not  till  then." 


338  UNGAVA  BOB 

Bob's  first  thought  upon  going  ashore  was  ot 
Emily,  and  he  went  immediately  to  the  hospital 
to  see  her.  The  operation  had  been  performed 
nearly  two  weeks  previously  and  she  was  re- 
covering rapidly.  When  he  was  admitted  to  the 
ward,  and  she  glimpsed  him  as  he  entered  the 
door,  her  delight  was  almost  beyond  bounds. 

«  Oh  1  Oh  1 "  she  exclaimed,  when  he  kissed 
her.  "  'Tis  fine  t'  see  un,  Bob — 'tis  so  fine.  An* 
now  I'll  be  gettin'  well  wonderful  quick." 

And  she  did.  She  was  discharged  from  the 
hospital  quite  cured  a  month  later.  At  first  she 
was  a  little  weak,  but  youth  and  a  naturally 
strong  constitution  were  in  her  favour,  and  she 
regained  her  strength  with  remarkable  rapidity. 

Finally  a  settlement  was  arranged  with  Cap- 
tain Hanks.  The  furs  on  board  the  Maid  of 
the  North  were  appraised  at  market  value,  and 
when  Bob  received  his  salvage  he  found  himself 
possessed  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars. 

He  reimbursed  Douglas  the  amount  advanced 
for  Emily's  hospital  expenses,  but  the  kimd  old 
trapper  would  not  accept  another  cent,  though  the 
lad  wished  to  pay  him  for  his  services  in  piloting 
the  vessel  to  St.  Johns. 

"Put  un  in  th'  bank.    You'll  be  needin'  ur» 


THE  CRUISE  TO  ST.  JOHNS        339 

some  day  t'  start  un  in  life.  Hold  on  t1  un," 
was  the  good  advice  that  Douglas  gave,  and  ac- 
cordingly the  money  was  deposited  in  the  bank. 

Bob's  share  of  the  furs  that  he  had  trapped 
himself  he  very  generously  insisted  upon  giving 
to  Dick  and  Ed  and  Bill.  They  were  diffident 
about  accepting  them  at  first,  saying : 

"  We  were  doin'  nothin'  for  un." 

But  Bob  pressed  the  furs  upon  them,  and 
finally  they  accepted  them.  The  silver  fox 
which  he  wept  over  that  cold  December  evening 
sold  for  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  the 
one  Dick  found  frozen  in  the  trap  by  the  deer's 
antlers  for  three  hundred  dollars. 

Neither  did  Bob  forget  Netseksoak  and  Aluk- 
took.  Money  would  have  been  quite  useless  to 
the  Eskimos  as  he  well  knew,  so  he  sent  them 
rifles  and  many  things  which  they  could  use  and 
would  value. 

Laden  with  gifts  for  the  home  folks,  and 
satiated  with  looking  at  the  shops  and  great 
buildings  and  wonders  of  St.  Johns,  they  were  a 
very  happy  party  when  at  last  the  mail  boat 
steamed  northward  with  them. 

Bob  Gray  was  very  proud  of  his  little  chum 
when,  one  beautiful  September  day,  his  boat 


340  UNGAVA  BOB 

ground  its  prow  upon  the  sands  at  Wolf  Bightt 
and  with  all  the  strength  and  vigour  of  youth  she 
bounded  ashore  and  ran  to  meet  the  expectant 
and  happy  parents. 

As,  with  full  hearts,  the  reunited  family  of 
Richard  Gray  walked  up  the  path  to  the  cabin, 
Bob  said  reverently : 

"  Thf  Lard  has  ways  o*  doin*  things  that  seem 
strange  an*  wonderful  hard  sometimes  when  He's 
doin'  ufl ;  but  He  always  does  un  right,  an*  a  rare 
lot  better*!!  we  could  plan." 


xxvm 

IN  AFTER  YEARS 

DURING  the  twenty  years  that  have 
elapsed  since  the  incidents  transpired 
that  are  here  recorded,  the  mission 
doctors  and  the  mission  hospitals  have  come  to 
The  Labrador  to  give  back  life  and  health  to  the 
unfortunate  sick  and  injured  folk  of  the  coast,  who 
in  the  old  days  would  have  been  doomed  to  die 
or  to  go  through  life  helpless  cripples  or  invalids 
for  the  lack  of  medical  or  surgical  care,  as 
would  have  been  the  case  with  little  Emily  but 
for  the  efforts  of  her  noble  brother.  New  people, 
too,  have  come  into  Eskimo  Bay,  though  on  the 
whole  few  changes  have  taken  place  and  most 
of  the  characters  met  with  in  the  preceding 
pages  still  live. 

Douglas  Campbell  in  the  fullness  of  years  has 
passed  away.  But  he  is  not  forgotten,  and  in  the 
spring-time  loving  hands  gather  the  wild  flowers, 
which  grow  so  sparsely  there,  and  scatter  them 
upon  the  mossy  mound  that  marks  his  resting 
place 


342  UNGAVA  BOB 

Ed  Matheson  to  this  day  tells  the  story  of  the 
adventures  of  Ungava  Bob — as  Bob  Gray  has 
thenceforth  been  called — not  forgetting  to  em» 
bellish  the  tale  with  flights  of  fancy;  and  of 
course  Dick  Blake  warns  the  listeners  that  these 
imaginative  variations  are  "just  some  o'  Ed's 
yarns,"  and  Bob  laughs  at  them  good-naturedly. 

It  may  be  asked  to  what  use  Bob  put  his  newly 
acquired  wealth,  and  the  reader's  big  sister, 
Should  this  book  fall  into  her  hands,  will  surely 
wish  to  know  whether  Bob  and  Bessie  married, 
and  what  became  of  Manikawan.  But  these  are 
matters  that  belong  to  another  story  that  perhaps 
some  day  it  may  seem  worth  while  to  tell. 

For  the  present,  adieu  to  Ungava  Bob. 


THE  EWD 


BUDDY   BOOKS    FOR   BOYS 

Illustrated.      Individual  Colored  Wrappers 

Tales  of  old  Western  pioneer  days  and  the  California  gold  fields, 
tales  of  mystery,  humor,  adventure,  thrilling  stories  of  sports  and 
aviation.  There  is  a  wide  range  of  subjects  in  this  list  of  titles — 
all  by  well  known  authors  of  books  for  boys. 

BEAN  BALL  BILL William  Heyliget 

A  book  filled  with  adventure  and  sport  by  a  favorite  boys'  author. 

MARK  GILMORE,  SCOUT  OF  THE  AIR.  ..Percy  Keese  Fitzhugh 

The  story  of  how  a  boy  scout  falls  in  with  an  aviator  and  helps  him 
accomplish  a  mission . 

CAMERON  MACBAIN,  BACKWOODSMAN. Harold  M.  Sherman 

A  boy  from  the  backwoods  has  some  strange  adventures  in  the  city. 

FLYING  HEELS Harold  M.  Sherman 

How  a  postponed  hockey  game  brought  about  a  thrilling  series  of 
events. 

FLASHING  STEEL Harold   M.  Sherman 

A  great  hockey  story  -which  tells  of  a  game  between  an  American 
championship  team  and  a  Canadian  championship  team. 

BUFFALO  BOY J.  Allan  Dunn 

A  boy's  adventure  in  the  old  pioneer  days. 

THE  CLOUD  PATROL .' Irving  Crump 

The  thrilling  experiences  of  a  young  air  pilot. 

THE  PILOT  OF  THE  CLOUD  PATROL Irving  Crump 

A  sequel  to  "  The  Cloud  Patrol." 
DON  RAIDFR,  TRAIL  BLAZER Harold  M.  Sherman 

Don  was  not  used  to  the  city  but  he  knew  how  to  handle  himself 
against  an  alley  gang  that  was  set  against  him. 

TUCK  SIMMS,  FORTY  NINER Edward  Leonard 

Excitement  and  danger  in  the  California  gold  fields. 

WIGWAG  WEIGAND Percy  Keese  Fitzhugh 

A  charming  story  of  mystery  and  true  fellowship. 

HERVEY  W1LLETTS Percy  Keese   Fitzhugh 

Readers  of  Tom  Slade  and  Roy  Blakeley  will  be  glad  to  learn  more 
of  Hervey  Willetts. 

SKINNY  McCORD Percy  Keese  Fitzhugh 

Skinny  is  a  queer,  amusing  chap  and  he  has  a  lot  of  thrilling  ad- 
ventures.  

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,    Publishers,    NEW  YORK 


BOOKS  BY  LEO  EDWARDS 

Illustrated.     Individual  Colored  Wrappers.     Every  Volume 
Complete  in  Itself. 

Hundreds  of  thousands  of  boys  who  laughed  until  their  sides  ached  over 
the  weird  and  wonderful  adventures  of  Jerry  Todd  and  his  gang  de- 
manded that  Leo  Edwards,  the  author,  give  them  more  books  with  belt' 
bursting  laughs  and  creepy  shivers.  So  he  took  Poppy  Ott,  Jerry  Todd's 
bosom  chum  and  created  the  Poppy  Ott  series.  Now  there  are  two 
more  series.  The  Andy  Blake  and  the  Trigger  Berg — and  if  such  a  thing 
is  possible — they  are  even  more  full  of  fun  and  excitement  than  the  Jerry 
Todds. 

THE  JERRY  TODD  BOOKS 

JERRY  TODD  AND  THE  WHISPERING  MUMMY 
JERRY  TODD  AND  THE  ROSE  COLORED  CAT 
JERRY  TODD  AND  THE  OAK  ISLAND  TREASURE 
JERRY  TODD  AND  THE  WALTZING  HEN 
JERRY  TODD  AND  THE  TALKING  PROG 
JERRY  TODD  AND  THE  PURRING  EGG 
JERRY  TODD  IN  THE  WHISPERING  CAVE 
JERRY  TODD,  PIRATE 
JERRY  TODD  AND  THE  BOB-TAILED  ELEPHANT 

THE  POPPY  OTT  BOOKS 

POPPY  OTT  AND  THE  STUTTERING  PARROT 
POPPY  OTT  AND  THE  SEVEN  LEAGUE  STILTS 
.      POPPY  OTT  AND  THE  GALLOPING  SNAIL 
POPPY  OTT'S  PEDIGREED  PICKLES 
POPPY  OTT  AND  THE  FRECKLED  GOLDFISH 
POPPY  OTT  AND  THE  TITTERING  TOTEM 

THE  ANDY  BLAKE  BOOKS 

ANDY  BLAKE 

ANDY  BLAKE'S  COMET  COASTER 

ANDY  BLAKE'S  SECRET  SERVICE 

THE  TRIGGER  BERG  BOOKS 

TRIGGER  BERG  AND  THE  TREASURE  TREE 
TRIGGER  BERG  AND  THE  700  MOUSETRAPS 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


FLYING  STORIES  FOR  BOYS 

IN  THE  AIR  WITH  ANDY  LANE 
By  EUSTACE  L.  ADAMS 

Individual  Colored  Wrappers.      Illustrated. 
Every  Volume  Complete   in  Itself. 

May   ba   had   wherever   books   are  soM.     Ask  for    Grosset   &    Dunlap's   list 

Mr.  Adams,  tKe  author  of  tKis  flying  series  for  boys  is  an  ex- 
perienced aviator  and  has  had  many  thrilling  adventures  in  tKe 
aii — botK  as  a  member  of  tKe  famous  Lafayette  Escadrille  in 
tKe  World  War  and  in  tKe  United  States  Naval  Aviation 
Service  flying  witK  tKe  squadrons  patrolling  tKe  Atlantic 
Coast.  His  stories  reveal  not  only  Kis  ability  to  tell  daring 
and  exciting  air  episodes  but  also  Kis  first  Kand  knowledge  of 
modern  aeroplanes  and  tKe  marvelous  tecKnical  improvements 
wKicK  Kave  been  made  in  tKe  past  few  years.  Andy  Lane 
flies  tKe  latest  and  most  Highly  developed  machines  in  the 
field  of  aviation. 

FIFTEEN  DAYS  IN  THE  AIR 

Andy  refuels  his  ship  in  the  air  and  sets  a  new  endurance  record, 

OVER  THE  POLAR  ICE 

In  a  giant  flying  boat  Andy  beats  his  enemy  in  a  dash  to  the  South  Pole. 

RACING  ROUND  THE  WORLD 

In  a  series  of  thrilling  flights  Andy  wins  an  air  dash  around  the  globe  to 
win  a  $100,000  prize. 

THE  RUNAWAY  AIRSHIP 

Through  foggy  skies  Andy  Lane  brings  back  the  world's  great  eat  pas- 
senger carrying  dirigible,  blown  away  on  the  wings  of  a  storm. 

PIRATES  OF  THE  AIR 

Andy  Lane  pilots  the  giant  passenger  plane  Apex  No.  4  across  the  Atlan- 
tic in  the  face  of  almost  overwhelming  odds. 

ON  THE  WINGS  OF  FLAME 

Andy  makes  a  forced  landing  in  the  South  American  jungle  In  the  dead 
of  night  and  has  thrilling  experiences  with  the  natives. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


Football  and  Baseball  Stories 

Durably  Bound.     Illustrated.     Colored   Wrappers 
Every  Volume  Complete  in  Itself. 

TKe  RalpK  Henry  Barbour  Books  For  Boys 

In  these  np-to  the  minute,  spirited  genuine  stories  of  boy  life 
there  is  something  which  will  appeal  to  every  boy  with  the  love 
of  manliness,  cleanness  and  sportsmanship  in  his  heart. 

LEFT  END  EDWARDS 
LEFT  TACKLE  THAYER 
LEFT  GUARD  GILBERT 
CENTER  RUSH  ROWLAND 
FULLBACK  FOSTER 
LEFT  HALF  HARMON 
RIGHT  END  EMERSON 
RIGHT  GUARD  GRANT 
QUARTERBACK  BATES 
RIGHT  TACKLE  TODD 
RIGHT  HALF  HOLLINS 

The  Tod  Hale  Series 

TOD  HALE  IN  CAMP 

TOD  HALE  WITH  THE  CREW 

TOD  HALE  ON  THE  SCRUB 

TKe  Christy  Mathewson  Books  For  Bo>)s 

Every  boy  wants  to  know  how  to  play  ball  in  the  fairest  and 
squares*  way.  These  books  about  boys  and  baseball  are  full  of 
wholesome  and  manly  interest  and  information. 

PITCHER  POLLOCK 

CATCHER  CRAIG 

FIRST  BASE  FAULKNER 

SECOND  BASE  SLOAN 

PITCHING  IN  A  PINCH 


THIRD  BASE  THATCHER,  By  Everett  Scott. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,   PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


II,    APR  19  1993 
&PR281993 


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